Some love stories begin in youth. Others begin after life has tested you. Ours began in 2017 on July 26th.

When I first met Pam, I didn’t know that the woman standing in front of me at Pinstripes would one day become my wife. What I did know was that there was something beautiful about her, inside and out.  She had an amazing smile.  She was warm. She was genuine. She was easy to be with. At a stage in life when both of us had already lived full chapters — raising children, building careers, walking through joy and hardship — we weren’t looking for fairy tales.

We were hoping to fall in love again. To feel that spark, that closeness, that deep sense of choosing and being chosen. We wanted something real, yes — but also something tender, joyful, and alive. And that’s exactly what we found in each other.

The Proposal at the Golden Gate

On Sunday, November 18, 2018, I asked Pam to marry me in California. But the moment itself had been building for weeks.

Before the trip, I had quietly asked her parents, Roger and Marlene, for their blessing. They were happy — genuinely happy — that this was happening. That meant everything to me. When you marry later in life, you don’t just join two people; you join histories, families, and generations. Their support mattered.

Roger and Marlene are the kind of parents anyone would be blessed to have—steady in their strong faith and unwavering in their love. They are deeply affirming, always speaking life and encouragement into their children, reminding them who they are and what they’re capable of becoming. Through hard work, generosity, and a genuine interest in every detail of their family’s lives, they model integrity and compassion every day. They show up without fail, lend a hand without hesitation, and create a home where support, sacrifice, and love are simply the way things are done.

Now I needed the exact perfect moment. I carried the ring in my pocket for a few weeks.

We were on vacation in California for 10 days during the month of November visiting a friend in Petaluma, Jake & Talia in San Jose, and later driving to Los Angles to celebrate Thanksgiving with Chuck & Terry and their family.  We had breakfast in Sausalito to start out that Sunday morning.  It was foggy out so we later drove over to one side of the bridge and parked the car.  

We started walking across the Golden Gate Bridge — one of those iconic places that makes you feel small in the best possible way. The wind was blowing, the bay stretched out endlessly beneath us, and we reached the midpoint of the bridge.  It felt symbolic. The center of something strong. Suspended between where we had been and where we were going.

And in that moment, I knew.

I got down on one knee.

Right there, at the midpoint of the Golden Gate Bridge, I asked Pam to be my wife.  I was shaking and I could feel my heart coming out of my chest. She smiled — that smile I’ve come to love so much — and said yes.  It was simple. It was romantic. It was perfect. We called our families when we got to the other side.

Planning a Celebration of Two Lives Becoming One

We chose July 27, 2019, for our wedding date — exactly two years and a day after we first met. That felt intentional. A quiet honoring of the journey that brought us together. We visited several venues before choosing the Chart House. It just felt right. Beautiful outdoor space for the ceremony. An outside bar. An inside bar. A dance floor ready for celebration. It matched who we were — elegant, but relaxed. Festive, but heartfelt.

The planning itself became part of the joy: Finding the DJ. Choosing the menu. Selecting decorations. Imagining the day.

Pam’s friends jumped in to help. There was laughter in the preparation. There were details to consider. There were decisions to make. And through it all, there was gratitude — that at this stage in life, we were planning a wedding. Not everyone gets a second chance at love. We did.

A Day Surrounded by the People Who Matter Most

Prior to the wedding, Pam and I were outside with the photographer, soaking in the beautiful sunshine that seemed to be shining just for us. The sky was clear, the air was warm, and everything felt bright and full of promise. There was laughter between poses, arms wrapped around shoulders, and that unmistakable feeling of shared joy. Soon, our entire family gathered together, filling the space with smiles and celebration. It struck me how special it was to have everyone there — children, grandchildren, loved ones — all united for this one moment. The atmosphere was festive and lighthearted, as if the day itself was celebrating alongside us. Seeing our family come together in honor of our marriage was both humbling and deeply moving, a reminder that love truly multiplies when it’s shared.

The day continued to stay beautiful for our wedding. Blue skies. Warm air. That kind of weather that feels like a blessing. One of the most meaningful moments for me was having my mother walk me down the aisle. She was 96 years old at the time — strong, sharp, and full of quiet pride. That image will stay with me forever.

All of our children were there — Jake, Talia, Grant, and Olivia. Seeing them together, standing in support of us, meant more than words can describe. Blended families are not just formed; they are built. And that day, we felt unified.

Pam’s parents were there. Pam’s brother and sister were there with their spouses. My brother Chuck and his wife Terry were there, along with their children. College friends came. Lifelong relationships gathered in one place. When you marry later in life, the guest list isn’t just names. It’s history. It’s shared decades. It’s people who have seen you at your best — and at your lowest.

To stand before them and say, “This is the person I choose,” is powerful.

Charlie Bench, a minister Pam knew, officiated our ceremony. It was beautiful. Thoughtful. Personal. Every word felt anchored in sincerity.  We had written our own vows and it was impossible for me to get through them without choking up.

The Dance We Practiced (Mostly for Me)

For our first dance, we chose an Ed Sheeran song, “Thinking out Loud”. We practiced and practiced and practiced. Now, Pam has natural rhythm. I… worked at it. But we created something that felt like us. Not flashy. Not complicated. Just connected. And when the music began and we stepped onto the dance floor as husband and wife, it wasn’t about perfection.

It was about partnership. That dance symbolized something deeper: Learning each other’s steps. Adjusting when needed. Moving in sync.

That’s marriage.

Speeches, Laughter, and a Liquor Budget Surprise

The reception was everything we hoped for — heartfelt speeches, good food, and a dance floor that stayed busy. Olivia, our maid of honor, spoke beautifully. Jake, my best man, gave a short but meaningful speech. There’s something about hearing your children stand up and speak at your wedding that humbles you. It reminds you how far you’ve come.

And then there was the liquor budget.  We had set aside what we thought was a generous amount.  By 7:30 p.m., it was gone. One of the Chart House employees came to me and asked if I wanted to keep the tab open. Of course we did!  The party was just getting started. I think we were buying liquor for everyone that was at the restaurant that day, if we knew them or not.

Later, I found out that Jake and his father-in-law, Lou, had been going back to the bar and selecting bottles of wine they particularly liked — bringing them proudly back to their table. Jake apparently felt it was perfectly reasonable to say, “It’s my dad’s wedding.”  Honestly? I loved it.

That’s what weddings are for. Celebration. Laughter. Stories you’ll tell for years. Prill’s. Rubash’s. Fritze’s. They all knew how to party.

A 96-Year-Old on the Dance Floor

One of my favorite memories of the entire evening was my mother. We had arranged for her to be taken home early, just in case she got tired. She refused. She stayed. She danced. She “hoofed it up,” as I like to say. At 96 years old, she was out there enjoying every minute. She left near the very end — long after anyone expected. That image — her joy, her resilience — felt like a blessing over our marriage.

She has always been that way — steady, determined, and full of quiet strength. Her faith carried her through nearly a century of life, and that night it seemed to shine brighter than ever. Watching her celebrate with us wasn’t just sweet; it was a living reminder of endurance, gratitude, and love that lasts. In many ways, her presence on the dance floor felt like God’s gentle nod of approval, as if generations were standing with us, cheering us forward. Even now, when I think of that night, I see her smile — and I am reminded of the legacy of strength and joy she has passed down to us.

The Quiet Ending to a Perfect Day

After the last dance and the final goodbyes, Pam and I stayed behind to help wrap things up. Then we headed back to our hotel. In another small, funny twist, some of my college friends were staying directly across the hall. They were still awake — waiting for us — because of course they were. Life-long friendships don’t fade just because you grow older. They simply gather more stories.

When we finally made it back to the hotel room, the door closed behind us and the quiet felt almost sacred. We were completely exhausted — the kind of tired that settles into your bones after a full day of emotion, laughter, hugs, and dancing. Yet at the very same time, our hearts were overflowing. We looked at each other and just smiled, hardly believing the day had actually happened. The joy was deeper than the fatigue, steady and warm, like a fire still glowing long after the celebration ended. As we sat there together in the stillness, we felt profoundly grateful — tired in body, but fully alive in spirit.

Love the Second Time Around

There is something deeply meaningful about finding love later in life. It is not naïve. It is not rushed. It is chosen.

Pam and I came into this marriage knowing who we were. We had walked through hardship. We had raised children. We had experienced loss and rebuilding. And perhaps because of that, our love feels anchored — not in fantasy, but in gratitude.

That day — July 27, 2019 — was more than a wedding.

It was a celebration of resilience. A blending of families. A declaration that joy can come again. Standing at the midpoint of the Golden Gate Bridge months earlier, I asked Pam to walk the rest of life with me. She said yes. And every day since, I’ve been grateful she did.  She is exactly who I prayed for to come into my life.