Love in the Time of Coronavirus

When I dropped down on one knee in front of my best friend at the backstage area of Disney's Lion King live show in January 2019, I could've realistically guessed there would be some bumps on the road between "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?" and the moment we put rings on each other at a church altar. What engagement doesn't have them? For a long time, thankfully, my prediction came true only in the most vanilla, cookie-cutter of ways: the usual vetting process of DJs, photographers, bakers that we both liked, reconciling our two approaches to things like finances, figuring out which brand of milk we could agree on. It was a growth period, the kind that should precede most happy marriages, the necessary laying of a foundation on a site where a house can later be built - all that standard stuff.

Smash cut to March 2020.

We were sitting on the couch of the new apartment we'd been settled in to for a grand total of three weeks. I was about halfway through the knee-high pile of books I'd taken off the shelf a week earlier, when I'd been told to stay home from my job as the PR & Communications Manager for the local auditorium. I'm not above admitting that, for the most part, I was sort of enjoying the unprecedented amount of free time I found myself with then. At that stage of things, I was aware only on the outermost periphery that, for sure, these were some fairly unique circumstances, and that yes, a lot of people seemed like were absolutely losing their minds about toilet paper - but the incoming tide of horror stories from nurses and ERs across the globe hadn't quite hit yet. The mask scars, the wartime shift lengths, the heartrending goodbyes said through plexiglass... my ignorance was bliss, however short-lived it was about to be. In the meantime, read all the books, watch all the shows I'd been wanting to catch up on for a while, without any other professional or social responsibilities? A kind of "SNOW DAY" feeling on steroids? Yes please.

As I turned the page from one chapter to the next, my fiancée Katie leaned over and asked, with only the most passing hint of concern, "You don't think any of this will affect the wedding, do you?" 

"Ha!" I laughed. "Hun. Come on." What a silly idea. What a downright preposterous, frankly laughable suggestion. This whole thing would be over long, long before then. We'd have weeks, MONTHS in the clear before our scheduled August nuptials, when we'd most definitely be looking back and saying in a church packed full of people "wow, weren't those a bizarre few weeks we had way back in March?"

Reader... you may or may not know this already, but it turns out I was more or less wrong in assuming this, in the way the villagers of Pompeii were more or less wrong in assuming the clouds overhead were just a passing shower.

I don't particularly feel the urge to get into every landmine of that journey, that rolling-back process from our original vision to the actual day itself, because no one here needs a newsflash or reminder about anything that's happened in the 2020 verse of Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire" we find ourselves living on a daily basis. 2020 has been... yep. It's been. 'Nuff said. In truth, we had a hard road, but we don't for one second forget that it could have been a lot harder. Temporarily losing employment or compiling socially-distant seating charts for a wedding with reduced capacity sorta pales next to the reality of mass graves and, like, the West Coast being on fire. I don't want to belittle our problems, or the problems of anyone in similar waters, but even when things were at their darkest in our little personal bubble, it was always soberingly worthwhile to take a look around at the big picture and realize, "you know what, it could be worse."

For engaged couples who are panicking about the current state of their Big Day, let me share the advice that got Katie and I through in one piece - advice that we only got by living through it all firsthand - and you take it for what it's worth. 

Allow yourself to feel, to process every negative emotion as it comes through, rather than just slapping some duct tape of forced positivity on your emotional Titanic. Sure, it's all going to be fine in the end (and I cannot stress this enough, it is, honestly), but you're entitled to feel upset that a day you've been imagining since maybe childhood is subject to changes beyond your control. Feel that frustration, that sadness, that loss. Feel it... then move on from it before it paralyzes you.

Lean on your supports. We didn't have an ace up our sleeves in this respect, we had the deck of fifty-two. I readily acknowledge that it's unfortunately not the same for everyone, but it just makes me appreciate the fact all the more that our parents, siblings, extended relatives, and friends checked in with us daily, if not several times a day. Katie and I are both incredibly close with each of our families, and our expectation for the wedding had been a 200+ person blowout of epic proportions, giving as many of those loved ones the chance to celebrate with us as possible. Phase regulations being what they were, unfortunately, meant that it wasn't to be, and there were lots of very, very difficult texts and phone calls to blood relatives and lifelong friends where we had to break that news. Across the board, not one single person expressed anything besides unwavering sympathy, understanding, and excitement that we were still going to be married at the end of it all. If anything, such responses made these absences even harder, because it just reaffirmed why we wanted those people there in the first place. 

Through everything, my mind kept returning (like it pretty much always does, in all scenarios) to a quote from Tolkien, which replayed over and over as I tried my best to comfort Katie through venue closures, chainsaw cuts to the guest list, etc.

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.

“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

For Katie and I, using our given time meant not waiting or postponing the wedding until some unspecified future date when hopefully, "fingers crossed!" this would all be blown over - because the plain truth is that neither of us had much confidence or certainty about when that would be. Couples who have gone that route have absolutely made the right choice for themselves (really, we're all well off the edge of the map here, so there's no such thing as a wrong route no matter what you choose), but Katie and I decided that in our case, if 2020 has taught us anything, it's that you just can't predict what's coming at you next month, let alone next year. All you can do is plant yourself where you can, declare "this is where we make our stand together," and refuse to give any further ground to a year that's been only too happy to take as much as it can and more.

And you know what?

Despite all the stress... despite all the headaches and back and forths and late night tears and uncertainty... despite masks and social distance and all the other straight-up historical obstacles we had to contend with...

We got married, folks. And it was, down to the last cliché, the greatest day of our lives to date.

Katie got her big moment walking down the aisle, and the general consensus (held by no one more strongly than her lucky-as-hell husband) is that she was the most radiant, joyful looking bride anyone in the church had seen. We had our full Mass ceremony, followed by a small, intimate outdoor reception where people could roam around in the fresh air and safely spread out according to social distancing standards. Besides the sheer joy of becoming Mr. & Mrs. now, one of the things we're most happy about is the fact that we got married and it felt like an actual wedding, complete with first dances and cake cuttings... but SAFELY, and within all recommended health standards. Well past the two week barrier now, we're happy to report there was not a single positive case or scare among anyone in our small assembled group, and that's more important to us than we can state in words. If nothing else, we've got stories and pictures to spare that could go down in the history books as documentation of what weddings were really like in this crazy old year. Future historians, you heard it here first.

If getting married in a pandemic has any upside at all, it's the focusing of perspective that occurs amidst it all. The fat that can sometimes distract people from the absolute nucleus of what this event's supposed to be gets trimmed away, and laid bare for what it is. It's not about the cardstock used for the invites, the length of the flower stems, the font used for the party favors. It's you and the other half of your soul, staring each other in the face and promising "I do" as easy as breathing, since spending the rest of your life with that person is the most-no brainer decision you can imagine making. That's all, folks. Everything else is confetti. Nice confetti, maybe, sure, but swept away when the party's over all the same, while the two of you drive off into the wedded bliss of Forever.

Puzzling as it may seem, Katie and I are both grateful to have been refocused like this onto the things that really, truly, deeply matter. Laying the foundations to that house I mentioned way back at the beginning in the midst of a proverbial earthquake means that we're bomb-proof now, baby. Bring it on. Undoubtedly, there will be lots, lots, lots more challenges in the decades we've got ahead of us - most of them probably beyond my imagining now as a newlywed - but with a start like this, we know we've got it in us now to face whatever it could be. 

Our deep, deep thanks and appreciation for everyone who's been on this journey with us. It's been an adventure and a half, but we know it's been only the prologue to all the ones still to come, ones that we can't wait to share with each and every one of you. Stay safe out there in the meantime, folks. We're gonna make it through this together, in all the ways that "together" now means.

Until next time, these two newest, luckiest Cooks in the kitchen are sending lots of love your way. Our happily ever after is one that has you all of you in it.

Brady's Bunch

It was the tail end of Patriots quarterback Tom Brady's record-setting 2006-07 season, where he seemed to have achieved some kind of telepathic link with wide receiver Randy Moss. League records were toppling faster than they could be set, so in the sports-loving Cook household, "Brady" was without question the name of the hour.

Which is why, when a 6 lb crate arrived first class at Logan Airport hours before a blizzard descended on the region in February 2007, there was only one name in mind for the fluffy white creature whose nose poked out of the shredded newspaper bedding at us.

I was in the 8th grade at that time - gangly, translucent, my cusp-adolescence phase in full swing. Amazing as it is for me to consider now, I hadn't had much contact with dogs at that point in my life - hardly any, as a matter of fact, to the point where I was almost skittish around them. The moment this Oklahoma-born fur-ball made his first tentative steps on our home kitchen tiles, however, all that unfamiliarity just vanished without a trace, and my life for the past thirteen years has been incomparably better for it.

I sit here writing to you now, though, feeling that unfamiliarity again for the first time in all those years. I'm stunned, and trying to process. Writing is how I do that, so here we are.

The Cook family had to say goodbye to our best friend last night. Our hearts are shattered.

The cotton ball ear-swab with legs that was Brady as we first got to know him, in puppy form

You've heard about it. It's covered ground. It's not a fresh take.  I don't care. If you're lucky enough, hopefully you'll know what I'm trying to get at, because a master's degree in writing isn't good enough here to provide me with the language to describe the friendship these beings bring to our lives. Sweet, unselfish, and faithful, faithful, faithful, Brady stopped being thought of as a "pet" or anything like it from the moment his puppy barks were first heard in our kitchen. He was, and will remain, a core, central part of the Cook family unit, no matter where it roams and spreads to in the future.

At the end, he passed, of all things, from a heart that was almost doubly large normal size, and the fitting poetry of that almost insults me. He really was all heart. He looked at you (you've got dozens of examples below that I won't apologize for including to excess), and in that expression was - sincerity? love? unmatched genuine-ness? contentedness? the unshakable feeling that he, a dog, comprehended and understood whatever it was you said to him better than most people could? I'm grasping here, trying to find the right description of Brady's personality, and adjectives are falling short in the same way that a puddle falls short of the ocean.

He was a lot of things to the Cooks - everything, in some ways - but the best I can do here is to include some of those things in picture form, and hope it imparts some minuscule sense of the unfailingly bright spot he was in our lives. Maybe, just maybe, we can follow some of his examples, and be all the better for it.

MASCOT

Not surprisingly for a family that named their dog after a quarterback, the Cooks are all about sports, whether watching or playing them. Brady was on-hand for both situations. He sniffed his way through countless cross country races or field hockey games, but his preference was definitely tailgating at home for Stanley Cups or World Series - because tailgates mean food, and food means plenty of chances for sharing. If that meant other people came over, the more the merrier, because visitors meant fresh and unsuspecting victims for begging.

In an ironic twist, his least favorite sport to be around for was probably football, because whenever his namesake made a mistake on the field and the room erupted in angry cries of "COME ON, BRADY!" it was always hard to clear up the confusion.

FASHION ICON
(This section largely falls under the category of "things Andrew had no involvement in or knowledge of until after the fact")

Whether it was hats... 

... sombreros...

... Shakespearean neck ruffles...

... or just a pair of sunglasses, Brady was a dog of many looks. And he was adorable in every single one of them.

PHYSICAL TRAINER

We attribute Brady's long and very healthy thirteen years to the fact that, literally right up to the last day, he was an incredibly active dog. He went for multiple walks a day, (usually one early in the morning and one after work or around dinnertime) and could have been a world-champion fetch player. One of my proudest and greatest accomplishments so far on this Earth is that I was usually his go-to fetch partner; it was a highlight of many, many a day for me, let alone him.

 As seen here, though, Brady didn't stop his exercise involvement with fetch games. Whether in a (literal) support role for stretching after runs -

- or with more hands-on approach for weighted squats, Brady was deeply invested in everyone's health and fitness. 

Especially if that meant time for chin-scratches between reps.

HOME BODY

Without a single shred of doubt, Brady's favorite place in the entire world was within the four walls of his own home. Car rides were hit or miss (made better if they included fast food "magic windows" that handed cheeseburgers right to you), walks in the park were fine and good, but nothing made Brady's day more than a soft blanket and room to stretch on his couch. The quarantine lifestyle suited him just fine.

For 22 lbs, he was also able to occupy a surprisingly incredible amount of cushion space all by himself.

His happiest dreams included cheese pizzas and the horrible demise of mailmen (more on that later)

And he definitely appreciated the comfort of a friend to fall asleep with.

Once he could be bothered to move to a new position and yawn himself awake, Brady himself probably took greatest pride in his role as 

PROTECTOR

If tributary plaques were scattered around the Cook household, the one under our large front picture window would read "Brady's Spot." This was his perch; his crow's nest; his eye in the sky upon the world outside, which he guarded with never-failing vigilance.

A literally uncountable number of joggers, bicyclists, dog-walkers, and cars were greeted on their way up our street over the last thirteen years by this fearsome sentinel, whose steely gaze surveyed all in his domain. Notice the one paw draped over the side of his perch, panther-like. A masterclass in intimidation.

Again, the definition of loyalty, Brady would remain in this perch for hours on end when one of his flock was away at work or school, patiently waiting for their return. Seeing a car pull into the driveway, he would then leap down to the carpet and sprint to the door. A better or more faithful greeting party, a body could never hope to find.

However, on the other side of that coin, a fiercer defender you could never encounter, and no one clashed with Brady in this regard like the dreaded mailman. Starting at puppy-age and never once taking a day off, Brady would always be woken from a peaceful sleep by the distinctive engine of the mail truck tck-tck-tcking to life around around the corner. He would scramble to his vantage point in the window, spot his prey, and proceed to come UNGLUED as the mailman - who, I should mention, is actually a very nice gentleman - returned, day after day and year after year, to "invade" our home territory. Diving from his perch to the mail slot, he would then catch whatever the post was delivering that day as it fell from the slot to the floor, and either violently shred it to pieces or hide it behind living room furniture.

We stopped displaying Christmas cards we received because of puncture marks through loved ones' faces; when Heather and I were expecting college admission packets, we had to meet the mailman on the walkway for fear of  acceptance letters being hidden or destroyed. Mail deliveries are about to become a lot more uneventful, and my heart is broken.

BEST FRIEND

The scope of this hasn't hit me yet, and I doubt it will for quite a while. Moved into a place of my own now, it's going to take me a very, very long time to return back and not expect a 22 lb muppet to come barreling down the hallway at me whenever I visit. How could I? When we met, I had braces, asthma, and a raging hatred of middle school; half a lifetime later, I had planned to google "dog bowties" for an appearance at my wedding (my opinion on middle school hasn't changed, though).

Brade - my cheese connoisseur, my nap partner, my co-pilot, the Chewie to my Han - I'm going to miss you, bud. A lot. A whole lot. You were a perfect, beautiful soul that it's been one of the privileges of my life to grow up alongside. I cannot state this strongly enough... I would not be the person I am today without you. No sunset walk and no ice cream cup will go by without a thought in your honor. Thank you, thank you, thank you for being such a  source of joy in our world. 

Rest easy, pal. You've earned all the cheese and chin scratches the universe could give. Keep a watchful eye over us from your brand new and improved perch. We'll see you later.