So I'm wearing a tuxedo and I'm standing up at the front of the church and the organ is playing and everybody's looking at me and OK, maybe I'm just a little nervous, like all those helpful people insisted I should be.

The bridesmaids have come down and the groomsmen have joined them and everybody turns to the back of the room and there's a pause and the doors open and there's two people.

For just one instant, a flash, I don't recognize Joanne.

Then there's a huge thud in my chest, hard, and I know -- I know -- she's the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

She starts walking down the aisle, and it looks like she's trying hard not to cry. She's smiling and the veil makes her face look gauzy and soft-focused. Or maybe I'm getting light headed. I can't remember.

My heart beats again. Thump.

And it's all gone. Everything bad or petty or mean or troublesome, it all falls away. Commutes and releases and moving and planning and car troubles and work troubles and stomach troubles and bitterness and anger and rage. It all just drops away, and left behind it is the most beautiful woman in the world.

Thump, again. Still hard. I can hear it in my ears.

She's standing next to me now and her father is shaking my hand. We won't be officially married for another twenty minutes or so, but she's next to me and that's really all I need, in the end. It's more than I can ask for.

I stand in awe of her. Of her intelligence and her savvy and her common-sense. Her humor and her work ethic. Her ability to handle anything, no matter what. Of how she is everything I'm not, everything that I need.

I love her more than I can say, more that I can believe. And I will always love her, as long as my heart beats in my chest.