Jacques Cleveland Fruge’ III got hitched … We arrived toting every kind of little toe apparatus that didn’t help one bit. I think I put a downpayment on a vacation home for Dr. Scholls and his family in the foothills of the Himalayas. We also brought a stash of syringes, alcohol swabs, Betadine, numbing cream, Marcaine and Vodka we hid in my beach bag.

We pulled into the hotel garage and as I bent over to pick up my purse an electric shock in the vicinity of my back and leg paralyzed me with pain.

The garage attendants offered to help Doctor remove me from the car but I wouldn’t let anyone touch me. I limped away with one shoe on and a footie on the toe foot whilst walking at a snail’s pace and unable to take a natural stride for fear of another electrocution.

The next evening was the rehearsal and dinner and Toe Injection #1, which did the trick. The pedicab ride to Antoine’s was part Pop the Whip and part The Scrambler. The video I worked so hard on was shown but not before running it through many times to make sure it was perfect, and it was, except for that night on account of everyone having blue neon foreheads and cheeks and teeth like The Smurfs.

The next morning was Wedding Day and the Belangers’ dear family friend Sharon Morgan’s funeral was held while Emily and Jacques and I had brunch at Brennan’s. We navigated joy and grief as thoughts of the Morgan family brought us back to the days and memories of my parents and my children’s father.

That evening Toe Injection #2 was administered for the walk down the aisle that wore off before Communion. I limped into the reception, sat down, and never got up until it was time to leave.

Emily left for Chicago Sunday morning and the honeymooners flew to Jamaica’s Goldeneye Resort and I took the one-hundred and eleven steps to the elevator one last time. As we waited for our luggage I spotted all of our stuff in the back of someone else’s car, including the afghan Aunt Flo knitted for me back in 1978 that was hiding the beach bag’s sketchy goods.

The weekend was a physical struggle for me but I only remember the special moments. They were at every corner I turned. Jacques called a few days before and said, “I know you’re upset about your injury but I don’t care if you’re in a wheelchair or flip flops or barefooted. I just wanna walk down the aisle with you,” and I remember him holding my hand during the video of Van Morrison’s “These are the Days.” I remember Emily’s tearful tribute to her brother and his friends’ heartfelt speeches. I remember the three of us sipping Brandy Milk Punch at brunch, and Emily and I laughing and singing and holding on to each other for dear life in that pedicab.

I remember Bo reading with a heavy heart, and the bride’s father whom I’ve known since I was fifteen, and the much-needed quiet moment when the wedding party gathered to pray. I remember a beautiful bride meeting her groom at the altar while I watched him watch her, and the courtyard reception that made me feel like I had died and gone to Paris. It was a weekend filled with love and joy and gratitude.

Van Morrison told us we must savor the days, and hold memories in our hearts. I do, and I remember them all, and I always will.

PHYLLIS BELANGER MATA was born at the old Dauterive Hospital and grew up on Wayne Street. She is a 1974 graduate of Mt. Carmel Academy and is a chili dog “without the wiener” aficionado.