Oliver: Anniversary brings happy memories despite all that has been lost

In late October 1995, I married my best friend.

It was a rainy, chilly day, though I honestly didn’t care. I was so happy that the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with wanted to spend his with me.

Tony looked handsome in his tuxedo, with a big, goofy grin on his face as I walked down the aisle toward him.

The veil in front of my face caused a claustrophobia-induced panic attack, but even that couldn’t stop the day’s joy. Neither could the fact that our stage flowers had been delivered to the wrong address.

Nor did the fact that my maid of honor left for the reception venue before helping to bustle the long train on my wedding dress. The photos of Tony and our limo driver, both beefy guys, stooping behind me to fasten teeny-tiny buttons still make me chuckle.

No, nothing would make that day a bad one. Not when it was the start of what was supposed to be our happily ever after.

We danced, laughed and tried to mingle with all the guests who had graciously agreed to celebrate our big day with us.

Some of our co-workers from the newspaper had to leave early, though, because the National Transportation Safety Board was going to be in Fox River Grove the next morning as part of their investigation into a train accident involving a busload of high school students. That seven young lives had been lost did tinge the day with sadness.

Our own sadness would come 20 years later.

That’s not to say that Team Oliver didn’t endure difficult things. However, we always faced them together.

The death of Tony’s mother early in 1996, just months after we were married, gave us our first test. I had hardly gotten to know her, but since I had lost my father, I knew the sting of losing a parent. I did what I could to help him cope.

Then there were all the difficult news stories that we would handle as members of the newspaper’s copy desk. The Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks took a toll on all of us at the paper. But Tony and I would talk everything through, and I always felt he had my back, and I had his.

That continued even after he left the newspaper and would spend his time as a firefighter/EMT and fire inspector/investigator. He’d regale me with stories about the work he did, and he’d listen to me go on and on about the doings in the newsroom.

When we worked different shifts, Tony would drive from McHenry to Crystal Lake every night to bring me coffee. This, though he knew he’d only get to see me for a few short minutes.

Tony was completely on board when my mother came to live with us in 2014 to care for her as her vascular dementia worsened and finally led to her death in 2018.

Still, nothing could have prepared us for that day in August 2015 when Tony was told that he had early onset Alzheimer’s disease. He was 57 years old.

One of the first things we were told to do was “get our affairs in order,” sobering words that underscored the seriousness of what we were up against.

Eight years after that diagnosis, I must admit I miss the man I married in 1995.

His disease has taken away so much of the man I fell in love with. He may look like my Tony, but only faint echoes of his wonderful, caring and witty personality remain.

I miss hearing him tell me about the fire service, his school days in Madison, Wisconsin, and the pranks he and his buddies would pull. I miss his stories about the newspaper before I got there and the stories he covered when he was a reporter.

I miss having him respond when I vent about our sports teams. I miss all our conversations.

Still, those memories remind me why I said “I do” 28 years ago.

Alzheimer’s has taken so much, but I will not let it take away “us.”

After all, I gave Tony my word.

• Joan Oliver is the former Northwest Herald assistant news editor. She has been associated with the Northwest Herald since 1990. She can be reached at jolivercolumn@gmail.com.