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When Jacquelyn and I celebrated our 48th wedding anniversary two years ago, we asked ourselves: Would we make it to 50? And if so, should we celebrate? And if so, how?

A quiet dinner with our immediate family at a local restaurant, like we did for our 40th birthday? A trip abroad? A reception with our extended families and as many friends as we could fit into a modest setting?

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We chose the latter, also because it seemed so daring.

We’ve rarely been a couple that makes a big deal out of anything. When there are special occasions, our default is to celebrate with our children and grandchildren, usually in the privacy of our home. And when we planned our gatherings, we assumed that COVID might have receded into a shadow of its former self by 2024.

Last year, as we celebrated our 49th anniversary with a few nights on the shores of Lake Huron, we began to realize the enormity of the task ahead. We had booked a small, urban venue, but Jacquelyn and our now-grown children and their spouses reminded me that there were other things we needed to take care of. Food, linens, decorations, music, invitations, shoes—the list kept growing.

(By the way: shoes?)

I realized how little attention I had paid to these details before our wedding in 1974. I had simply rented a tuxedo, asked a few friends to do the same, and shown up at the church.

It also became clear that this golden celebration could easily become a flop if we didn’t have help. Thankfully, our children quickly agreed to carry the load. My responsibilities included putting together a formal program and creating a guest list.

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Of course, there would be our extended families. And since Jacquelyn was adopted at 13 months old and later had the good fortune to meet her biological family on her mother’s side, my guest list quickly filled out automatically. But there was still room for a few more. Who would that be?

Our priority was to find the members of our wedding party and those who were our closest friends during the early years of our marriage. Finding their locations and email addresses was straightforward in some cases, and more difficult in others.

I was able to contact two of the witnesses without any problems; we had stayed in touch over the course of five decades. I was able to get back in touch with another after some rudimentary research. Another had a reputation for being a recluse; he had indicated early on that he would not be able to attend.

The search for Jacquelyn’s bridesmaids was more challenging and in some ways more interesting. One of them had spent most of her married life in Europe with her husband, a businessman; after retiring, they had returned to Canada. A friend from her childhood had traveled the world as a nurse for various NGOs and then entered an Anglican convent to help others. One of them had health problems; another, Jacquelyn’s sister-in-law, had died.

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Seeking, finding and learning the life stories of those who had stood with us at the altar was a vivid reminder of how the storms of life had taken us all in different directions. But reconnecting with them and filling in the huge gaps in our knowledge of their stories was a joyful and sometimes dizzying experience.

With family members and former wedding guests already on the seating chart, there was only room for a few more. Those handful of invitations went to friends who had supported us during the early years of our marriage and parenthood.

Thanks to Jacquelyn’s hard work, the help and encouragement of our children, and the kindness of our neighbors on our street, it all worked out in the end. And so last weekend, as storms raged in the London area, we renewed our vows and celebrated in a little slice of peace (and even some sunshine) by the Thames.

We expected our three families to greet us with gratitude. Their love and dependability are rock solid; they have been a source of encouragement and strength over many decades. But a more unexpected part of our golden afterglow was the euphoria of finding those we had temporarily lost in life’s disorientation.

I think of them as halfway friends now. They’re not as close as family, but they’re not distant either. They’re friends who are so easy to visit – even after years apart – that time and space seem to collapse in their presence.

After last weekend, I resolved to dig the soil, tend the plants, and water the garden more regularly. I learned that lifelong friendships are greatly underrated.

Larry Cornies is a London-based journalist. [email protected]

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