September 4, 2016: We Did It

September 4, 2016: We Did It

We did it. 

I mean, we got married.

Adam and I had the incredible opportunity to visit family in Egypt, and while there, he asked me to spend forever with him. He remembered all the conversations in the past where I said “don’t ask me to marry you if I look ugly that day,” “don’t ask me to marry you unless we are somewhere cool,” “make sure you have someone take a picture when you propose, I want to remember it.” Someone was listening very closely to these little snippets, and someone else was very demanding and maybe rather presumptive?

Despite my previous neurotic requests about a wedding proposal, there by the Red Sea with kite surfers flying high above us and sea shells decorating the sand below us, Adam asked me to marry him. It was perfect, and later, surrounded by family and new friends we were able to announce to just our little piece of the world that day that we planned to spend forever together. There was something really intimate about being off the grid and only telling our small circle that made the experience special. We were also showered with hugs and congratulations and told about Egyptian engagement and wedding traditions. My engagement ring, which Adam purchased at a shop in El Gouna on the Red Sea, is worn on my right hand because of their traditions. He asked I said are you kidding and then I said yes.

A little excerpt from our wedding website gives more insight into the backstory:

Her Story:

I have to say this whole thing started one day when I decided to quit my job. I was living in rural North Dakota and working as a child welfare social worker. I was living in a small town and needed a better work-life balance. In short, I was CERTAIN if I didn't do something, I would become a spinster cat lady. And I don't even like cats.

I resigned my position in February 2013, and a month later I loaded my motorcycle into the bed of my pickup, packed a few necessities, and took off. For over two months I travelled around the United States, stopping along the way to take the motorcycle out for a ride, hike the Grand Canyon, and enjoy beach combing. When I returned home, after considering many different locations, I decided to move to Duluth, MN to be near my grandparents. Since childhood, Duluth has held a special place in my heart after years of spending summers there with my grandparents. Along with my nostalgic love for the city, I felt that Duluth had enough variety to give me a balance, and could maybe even offer me the opportunity to meet someone who could fend off the awful fate of tending cats for eternity. I am also extremely close with my grandparents. Sometimes I think it's easy to take our grandparents' longevity for granted, and I wanted to take advantage of an opportunity to live near to them since we had always been far apart.

In July, I started a job at a corporation; not long afterwards, a boy accepted a position at the same company. We were assigned to the same work-sponsored volleyball team, and soon discovered we drove identical vehicles and owned the same motorcycle. Our first "date" was an ill fated motorcycle ride, during which it began to hail. Later, my date's motorcycle battery went dead in my grandparents' driveway. I have some mechanical ability with motorcycles, but due to the storm, I offered to fix his bike the following day when the weather cleared up. I warily sent him home on my motorcycle, and he promised to return it the following day.

At the time, I was living with my grandparents. The boy, Adam, faithfully returned my motorcycle the next day. My grandfather watched over me as I went through the motions of bringing the bike's battery back to life in the garage. This boy would later come to dinner at my grandparents' home and start a tradition of dinners at the Grinden house.

My grandfather, John Grinden, was very dear to me. He was a business man for decades when he ran the Duluth Airport and served on the Port Authority. He was also a practical joker, a father figure, and the man who I had asked to walk me down the aisle at a wedding I imagined someday in my future. My father is absent, and there was no one I could imagine giving me away besides my grandfather.

Adam and I began our courtship in October 2013, and continued to date and attend various events with my grandparents. We spent New Year's Eve with them, shared countless dinners and holidays, and made many happy memories. Only months after we started dating Adam had begun to jokingly ask me to marry him. As time ticked by, we discussed the idea of marriage more often, and I indicated that if he were ever to ask me to marry him, I'd like him to ask my grandfather for permission.

In December 2014, Adam's paternal grandfather fell ill. He passed away just before Christmas that year. I was heartbroken for Adam, and also wondered how I would ever move on when I lost my grandfather. I was thankful he was healthy and thought I would have a lot of time left with him.

In February 2015, my grandfather suffered a massive heart attack while on vacation in Arizona. Adam and I flew at once to be with him in the hospital, but the damage to his neurological system was too much. We spent time talking to him and holding his hands along with other family members, and together all of us agreed to remove the life support machines so that he could be at peace. I held his hand after the machines were turned off until he took his last breath. Adam was by my side the entire time.

In the car on the way back from the hospital that night, I was consumed with the loss. I hysterically ticked off every way I would miss him, everything we hadn't done yet, and all the ways I still needed him in my life. I remarked that now I had no father, no one to walk me down the aisle, and Adam could never ask grandpa if he could marry me. Adam quietly disagreed. He said that he had spent time with grandpa prior to the life support being removed. While Adam was talking to grandpa in the hospital room, he had asked if he could have his permission to marry me. It was the most beautiful thing he could have ever done during his last moments with grandpa.

The loss was devastating for me, and I battled continual bouts of grief. Eventually, I started to weep less and remember more of the beautiful times we shared together. The pain was not as raw, but I still thought of grandpa daily. Then in November, just before what would have been grandpa's 83^rd birthday, a situation arose that resulted in me no longer working with Adam. I was on an emotional rollercoaster, still grieving my grandfather, and now grieving an unjust employment situation and questioning my abilities. I was proud for always having stuck to my morals and ethics, but the outcome concerning my prior employment was a completely unexpected obstacle for us. I'm not sure what I expected of Adam during that time, but he surpassed anything I could have dreamed. He was my rock and my unwavering support. Together we got through a very tough 2015 and came out stronger than ever before.

Just before the end of 2015, I received an exciting email. My aunt in Cairo, Egypt, asked us to come and visit to celebrate my cousins' 29^th birthdays—they are identical twins and we had not seen each other in 20 years. I explained what had just happened with work and that I was going through a very emotionally trying time. Her response was that I needed family right now. Adam and I packed our bags.

I cannot put into words the way in which my heart swelled with happiness upon being reunited with my cousins. I felt as though I might burst. Spending time with them in Egypt was truly amazing, and sharing that with Adam was a special bonus.

The last day we spent with my cousins, I asked if we might go beach combing for a few treasures before our return to the States. Adam happily came along and offered a few of his findings as we walked. I was glued to the ground, as usual. I could walk miles without realizing how far I've gone when I'm seeking treasures on a beach.

Randomly, Adam crouched down in the water and commented that there was a bunch of shells in that area. He held one up to me and asked if I liked it. It was a small conch shell, and I initially remarked that it was nice, but he should throw it back. It had some rubbish inside—a bottle cap, perhaps? No wait—a ring!

We discussed waiting a year to get married so that we had time to plan. On a whim, we looked at dates for 2016 and found an open spot in the fall. I panicked and worried we couldn't get a wedding together that fast. In the meantime, Adam's other grandfather was hospitalized. As we discussed dates, his mother offered that having both lost a grandfather last year, and having uncertainty about the health of Adam's remaining grandfather now, why wait to plan a ceremony we had been talking about for over two years? She was completely right. We had been discussing marriage the entire time we had been dating. Adam hesitated several times to ask me to marry him because of a number of items that had come up; most recently the situation with my job. He had waited for a special time to ask me, a time we could remember as a happy time. His love for me is stunning.

We are getting married this fall, on Adam's maternal grandmother's birthday, with our beloved Great Dane as our ring bearer. I'm going to be carrying my grandpa's Bible. After a few great obstacles and a myriad of smaller challenges over the years, I can say with confidence that Adam and I are ready to get through anything together—because we have found that we can support each other unconditionally through triumphs and losses. It's not perfect, and our love story isn't remarkably special; it's the way we fight for each other and never give up that makes it special, remarkable, and perfect.

Perfect for us.

His Story:

Similar to many moments in my life, this little story is based upon sports and motorcycles…

Typical of all new hires on their first day, a corporate-wide email was distributed with my mug shot on it imploring people to welcome me to the maurices family. While this incited a moderate amount of electronic responses from my new coworkers (some being quite humorous), there was a new administrative assistant that was not impressed. When questioned about that new guy's photo and whether or not she had introduced herself, she coldly responded with "you mean that frat boy?"

A few weeks into my employment, the opportunity to participate on a company volleyball team was presented. I wasted no time signing up, urging the organizer to place me on the most competitive team. Shortly thereafter, communication was disseminated outlining which of my cohorts would now also be my teammates. As it turned out, I only knew of a couple of them. Utilizing the photographic organizational chart, I was able to stereotype each of the individuals on the list. By the time I got to "Arianne Martinovich", Russian mobster or Ukrainian figure skater came to mind.

I showed up to the first game early to make a good impression. Arianne was there gabbing with another team member; I observed silently as I stretched in their vicinity. I don't particularly recall how the games went, but I am sure we won all three. Afterwards, as the team gathered for a quick debriefing, Arianne deployed a covert intelligence gathering operation. She had heard through the grapevine that I rode motorcycle. However, as I was marked in her head as a keg-standing frat boy, she assumed that I rode a crotch rocket and wore Affliction t-shirts. "Lori, have you gotten the bikes out lately?" This was Arianne's tactical approach to indirectly inquire as to my riding preference, asking the question loudly to our teammate Lori when I was close by. She assumed that if I were truly a motorbike fanatic, this simple line would have perked my ears and I would have inserted myself into their conversation. She assumed correctly.

After learning the night before that we both rode Honda Shadows, Arianne decided to take the situation a step further. The sun was shining brilliantly that Friday morning, warming the crisp October air. "I am new to town," she declared, "and am in search of riding companions. If you go on any bike rides in the near future, I would be interested in joining." Without hesitation I replied to the email, stating that I was going to leave work early to potentially get in my last lengthy ride of the season. She tendered her acceptance of my indirect invitation.

As she was not positive I was not a serial killer, and given that she was living with her grandparents in Pike Lake, she proposed that we meet at the Holiday station on Highway 53 in Hermantown. We said our hello's, rid our auras of the awkward tension, began our life-long disagreement about helmets, and we set off. I led her on one of my favorite rides through the countryside of Fredenberg Township, along the meadows and ponds, and over to Island Lake. From the bridge that separates that body of water into two, we sat upon our bikes sharing stories of different riding experiences we had encountered. Ironically, the final story was of her getting trapped by a freak snow storm in a mountain in Washington State. It was only ironic as the clouds began to mount above us; the unexpected thunderheads were starting to rumble. At the first sprinkle, we found it imperative to get rolling. It was a 15 mile ride back to her grandparents' house. I felt obligated to see her safely to their abode, so she led the way. Halfway through, hail started falling from the sky. I am sure it made an awful echoing noise as the ice pellets bounced furiously off her helmet; they simply bounced off my bare face so I did not experience such a racket…

As we made the final turns into the Pike Lake neighborhood, something within me had the wherewithal to memorize the turns. Was this the serial killer side of me? Potentially. Either way, it would prove to be useful in the coming days. We made it to their driveway just in time for the hail to cease. The rain kept us chatting in the garage for quite some time, illuminated slightly by my motorcycle's dim[ming] headlight. Once the rain had stopped, I decided to call it a night. We said our goodbyes and she went inside. As it turned out, I had a long night in front of me. Given that I inadvertently left the key turned to the "run" position, my battery was now sufficiently drained. I felt fortunate, if only for a few minutes, that her grandparents lived on a very flat road. I attempted several times to push start the bike, but once I fell over in exhaustion (and the bike landed on top of me), I decided to shove my dignity to the ditch and plead for assistance from the girl that I was starting to grow quite fond of. Subsequent to my knocking, Lana (Arianne's beautiful grandmother) answered the door, "Who are you? I don't know you! Why are you wet?" Given the time of night, and Arianne's preference to be in bed before all grandparents of the world, I was presented with two options. The first, which I declined on account of saving myself the humility, was to have her give me a lift in her truck back to my apartment. The second, which I accepted, was to steal her bike for the night and return it in the morning. Since I had plans with my brother, I declined her offer to stay for a late supper and I was off.

The next day, calming her mounting anxiety, I returned with her bike to collect my own. As a token of my appreciation for her impending assistance, I gift wrapped a nice bottle of white wine and hid it neatly in her saddlebag. We attached the battery charger to my bike, and conversed to pass the time while it charged. Finally, after it had been lurking by the grave, my bike came back to life with its deep bellowing gargles echoing through its pipes. To avoid meeting her grandparents in a formal manner under these circumstances, I once again declined her offer to stay for supper. Once safely home, I sent Arianne a message about the gift of gratefulness that should be discovered before her next ride. Given that she does not drink, this later became quite hysterical, as she was mortified by the gift. We continued texting back and forth, only for me to discover that she was in search of a church to attend. The great Christian guy that I was, I offered to have her join me the next day for fellowship at Peace in Christ in Hermantown.

Many life altering events have taken place since our first meeting. We have seen the calm, beautiful meadows sweeping in the light breeze under the brilliant sunshine. We have experienced turbulent hailstorms on dark roads. Along the journey, however, we have continually energized and uplifted each other. We always ride together, no matter the weather.

Our next trip starts at the location where my story left off. This time, though, we are taking all of you with us!

       
From us both: 

Cheers to everyone who is a part of our lives, and has had a role in making us who we are so that we could grow into the humans we've become. Our world is so much richer because of those who have chosen to be a part of it.