I remember the day we got married. I was a bundle of nerves. I didn’t know what to do with myself. So I just drove around town in my car.

I ended up eating a huge lunch at a barbecue joint because I was so nervous. I didn’t know what else to do with my time, so I ate a big barbecue sandwich. Then I ate one more. Then I ate a third sandwich.

I remember the way I felt when I arrived at the church. Like I was going to puke. Either from the 27 pounds of pulled pork I had just eaten, or from the anxiety. Or both.

I was trembling. I remember feeling so stupid. I can’t explain it. Like a kid playing dress-up. Like I wasn’t fully an adult. Like I had no right to be here.

I threw the truck into park, stared at the church, and wondered whether I should turn around and drive away. I could just aim my truck for Canada, and nobody would ever find me.

The parking lot was filling with cars. People were walking into the church. And I was caught in a daze, just watching them.

I remember finally walking into the groom’s dressing room. Like a zombie. My uncle was standing there. The same uncle who hasn’t smiled since the Woodrow Wilson administration. He was just looking at me with his trademarked scowl.

He said, “Where were you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you getting cold feet?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

I nodded. “Sort of.”

I got dressed. It was my first time ever wearing a tux. I felt ridiculous in it. The necktie made me look like Winston Churchill after a very bad night.

I walked into the sanctuary. The pews were full with three quarters of Brewton, Alabama. I could hardly breathe. Everyone was looking at me. My mother was smiling. My sister was smiling. My uncle looked severely constipated.

The music played. The doors to the chapel were thrown open. And there she was.

The young woman I loved. She meandered down the aisle, wearing a veil. She’d just gotten her hair did. I didn’t even recognize her.

This young woman made me feel differently than I’d ever felt before.

With other girls, I always felt as though I had something stuck in my teeth. I felt sort of goofy and gangly. And dumb. I was always hyper aware of how mediocre I was, and how little I had to offer. I was broke and uneducated. Being with other girls was exhausting because I was constantly being confronted with how little I had to offer. Most girls wanted to know what you could provide for them. But I was not a provider. I don’t know exactly what I was. But I wasn’t a provider.

But with her, I always felt like I was at home. It didn’t matter what we did, or where we went. If we were together, we were home. I never wanted to be apart from her. For she was not just the one I loved. She was where I wanted to live.

Happy 22nd anniversary, Jamie.