The Wedding Almost Everyone Forgot

Barry Maher
Fri, 19 Dec 2025 16:28:03 -0800
Opinion

The first time Rosie and I got married, things just seemed to fall into place. Our guests all loved the ceremony. They even loved my dumb jokes. Though disconcertingly, the biggest laugh of the day was for the old standard, "The Three Rings of Marriage: the engagement right, the wedding ring and the suffering." The food was even more delicious than it had been when we'd sampled it. The band was extraordinary. The bride was gorgeous; I'm sure the contrast with the groom helped. (If you think all brides are beautiful, you need to walk down the Vegas strip on a Saturday afternoon. Contrary to popular opinion, Alcohol is not a beauty aid.)

In a wonderful wedding surprise, none of my relatives ended up throwing things — or each other — at each other. And not a single guest got tanked and became obnoxious. It was hardly like a wedding at all. To this day, people frequently bring up how much they enjoyed it.

Unfortunately, my mother missed it. She hadn't forgotten, though she probably would have if we'd told her about it. She had Alzheimer's, what they call happy Alzheimer's. The woman who'd lost two babies at birth and who'd almost died several times now believed she'd led a charmed life. "Never even had a headache," she'd say.
Updated: Fri Dec 19, 2025

The first time Rosie and I got married, things just seemed to fall into place. Our guests all loved the ceremony. They even loved my dumb jokes. Though disconcertingly, the biggest laugh of the day was for the old standard, "The Three Rings of Marriage: the engagement right, the wedding ring and the suffering." The food was even more delicious than it had been when we'd sampled it. The band was extraordinary. The bride was gorgeous; I'm sure the contrast with the groom helped. (If you think all brides are beautiful, you need to walk down the Vegas strip on a Saturday afternoon. Contrary to popular opinion, Alcohol is not a beauty aid.)

In a wonderful wedding surprise, none of my relatives ended up throwing things — or each other — at each other. And not a single guest got tanked and became obnoxious. It was hardly like a wedding at all. To this day, people frequently bring up how much they enjoyed it.

Unfortunately, my mother missed it. She hadn't forgotten, though she probably would have if we'd told her about it. She had Alzheimer's, what they call happy Alzheimer's. The woman who'd lost two babies at birth and who'd almost died several times now believed she'd led a charmed life. "Never even had a headache," she'd say.

My siblings and I had gone through hell finding care for her, hassling over what was best. Flying in from different parts of the country, we checked out over forty different Boston area memory care facilities. It didn't help that, over the years, my mother had repeatedly insisted, "If you ever put me in "one of those places," I'll slit my throat."

Fortunately, we settled on White Oak Cottages. Literally two cottages with 12 residents in each. A family-style home. With family-style meals and a few family-style squabbles. Forgetting yesterday's sins has its benefits.

To my shock, my mother took to it immediately. Forgetting — among many other things — to slit her throat. Within days, she and several others believed they'd known each other their whole lives. She participated in the activities, read from the same Grisham novel until it was falling apart, and — as long as no one sat in her favorite chair — she was content.

So, shortly after the wedding, I called White Oak and asked the director if we could hold a mock wedding ceremony there. They not only approved, they made it an event. When Rosie and I arrived, the enclosed back yard was set up with chairs and flowers and decorations. They even supplied a cake and refreshments, and the patients, staff and my local siblings were all guests.

I brought in a friend I'd known since junior high to perform the same ceremony we'd had in California, though he cut my jokes. Maybe he wasn't confident he could deliver them. Or maybe — like so many things — they weren't nearly as hilarious without the benefit of alcohol. (I've been trying to work out a way to serve drinks with this column, but so far the syndicate has resisted.)

The wedding felt every bit as genuine as the first. One of the guests took my hand emotionally and announced to everyone that Raphael had always been her favorite nephew. In spite of everything. Raphael was, apparently, me. Memory might not have been her strong suit, but at least for a few minutes that afternoon, it didn't matter. Most of our guests assumed they knew us. Which made perfect sense. Why would they be watching two strangers' get married? Everyone seemed to have a great time, especially the groom and his mother.

The staff was thrilled. And I couldn't have been more grateful. The woman I love and I committed to each other once again. Fortunately, she hadn't changed her mind in the interim. And I got to dance with my mother at my wedding.

Sometimes your jokes fall flat. Sometimes you miss your connecting flight. Sometimes someone you love gets Alzheimer's. And sometimes, life is an incalculable gift.

Barry Maher's dark humor supernatural thriller, "The Great Dick: And the Dysfunctional Demon" has just been released. Contact him and/or sign up for his newsletter at www.barrymaher.com.