It’s been exactly two weeks since our wedding, and it’s high time that I started recording the memories. It’s my goal to post a new story from our wedding every Sunday until I run out of things to say.

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My Maid of Honor and I arrived at the ceremony venue, fresh from hair, makeup, and a snack. They showed us to the bride’s room and the first thing we noticed was: no dress.

The plan had been for my Maid of Honor’s mom to drive us from my parents’ house, where we had our hair done, to downtown to have our makeup done. In a little tiny car. After contemplating the odds of my big, freshly-pressed dress hanging nicely in the little tiny car, we decided it would be best if my Maid of Honor’s boyfriend transported the dress from my parents’ house to the venue in his very large truck.

But in the meantime, he was going to have lunch with a friend.

We got to the bride’s room on the second floor and couldn’t find the dress. It’s a small room—a bathroom, really (but a very nice bathroom in an Italian-style villa)—with nowhere for a wedding dress to hide. My Maid of Honor called her boyfriend and asked when he was going to bring the dress by.

“Uhhh…honey? The dress is in the closet.”

Oh hey! There’s a closet! Someone had even helpfully left the door ajar and we saw the dress hanging nicely inside.

The photographer arrived and I started putting on my jewelry. We chatted a bit. And then I noticed some flowers set up nicely in water by the window.

“Oh!” I said. “Those must be our bouquets!”

The photographer laughed. She’d already photographed all the flowers a while ago. I told her that’s why she’s the photographer; I’m so not observant!

A rush of people started coming in. First, a college friend and her two adorable children—our flower girl and ring bearer. I presented the flower girl with her little flower ball.

Then the extended female family members came in to help me get dressed. My aunt, who is well-meaning but generally overbearing and tactless, decided that she should be the one to put me in the dress, despite having not been present for any of the fittings. Of course, she insisted that it wasn’t her own lack of familiarity with the dress that was preventing her from lacing the corset up right, it was that I had gotten fat.

I wear a size 2-4 in street clothes, people. I AM NOT FAT!

After that, my friend of 20 years (incredible, for two people still in their 20s), came up to say hi. I hadn’t seen her in a while and she’d been through some very rough times lately, so it was great to give her a hug.

And she had a message: “I think they’re waiting for you!!”

I poked my head out of the room and indeed, one of the ceremony coordinators was motioning for me to come out.

The Bride’s head says: “OMG! IT’S HAPPENING! EEEEEEEEEEEEE! OMG OMG OMG!”

I tentatively stepped out, testing how well I could walk in three-inch heels and a gown with a train. I didn’t immediately trip, so I started walking with new confidence.

I was told to stop at the top of the staircase so that the rest of the processional could go ahead without having seen me. My Maid of Honor and my other friend skipped around my dress and went down, leaving me and the photographer. The photographer straightened my train and snapped some photos. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, hoping I didn’t look terrified in the pictures. And then I got the signal to go meet my dad.

My dad, standing there by himself in a new suit. Six months ago, this moment seemed like a pipe dream. My dad was diagnosed with metastatic lung cancer in May 2007. The median survival time following such a diagnosis is well short of a year. The first six months post-diagnosis seemed to go well, but things got extremely difficult just after the holidays, as he suffered potentially fatal blood clots and heart failure. He was put on oxygen and his mobility was extremely limited.

And yet, there my dad was, looking better than he did the day he was diagnosed. A combination of a new drug treatment and an alternative therapy was shrinking the tumors and improving his energy. He was walking unassisted and without oxygen. I took my dad’s arm.

As I turned to face the aisle, my husband and I made eye contact for the first time that day. I smiled as my heart skipped a beat. He looked nervous, but happy to see me.

Our friend who was officiating flashed me a grin and asked the audience to rise for the bride. I heard the Pachelbel Canon reach its glorious peak, looked at my dad, and started walking down the aisle.