calliemm

Love, Unbroken

February 1999 

Our holidays began around the same time the rain set in; one week before the wedding. And I mean heavy rain, drought-breaking, all-day, everyday down pours. Wet wasn’t going to work for us, Bren was a sunny-day kind of guy. Rain on his wedding day would not make his day. And it would make the drive to the church very soggy in the gorgeous duck-egg blue VW convertible Cabriolet I would ride in.  

We bought and borrowed as many umbrellas as possible during the week-long deluge leading up to our big day, hoping to keep our bridal party and guests dry and hoping against hope that we wouldn’t need them. It wasn’t looking good. My wedding jitters went into overdrive when I heard whispers of widespread flooding in our area. Shit! By wedding day eve, we had done all we could do. The rest was up to fate.  

The weather showed little sign of clearing the day before our big day. Heavy grey clouds sat threateningly over Crowdy Bay for most of the day. By mid-afternoon, the rain had eased slightly, shifting between a drizzle and sudden downpours.

Bren was determined not to let the bad weather ruin his last day as a single man, so he and his two groomsmen spent the afternoon surfing before meeting us later that evening for our wedding rehearsal at the church. It was around 5 that afternoon when the phone rang. I had a feeling something was wrong. It was Bren. 

“Don’t worry, everything’s OK,” he said. 

I started to worry. 

Bren and Graeme had rushed his other groomsman to the hospital after a surfing accident left him with a gaping wound. Jack had come off his board, and it struck him just below the coccyx, leaving a deep gash that required stitches and an overnight hospital stay. He would be discharged the next day but would not be out in time to make the wedding. 

I felt awful for him, but we needed a new groomsman, fast, who was close to the same size. I suggested Bren pick up Jack’s suit on his way home from rehearsals. His brother, Charles, had just arrived from Perth that morning with his then-wife, Angie. The suit would fit, hopefully, and Charles could step in. Crisis averted. 

The rain had set in again. It was heavy and didn’t let up all night. Nor did I sleep; I stayed in my childhood room, with Deb and Andy in the room next to me. I heard Dad get up several times through the night to check the weather. By 3am the sound of wind and rain became gentler and finally lulled me to sleep. I woke at sunrise to complete silence, almost an eerie quiet.  

Trying not to wake Deb and Andy, I tiptoed to the front veranda through the room they were sleeping in. The last pinkish-grey clouds were heading over the mountains, revealing a beautiful, big, clear sky. Birds had started to sing, and I felt oddly like Snow White. I would not have been surprised if a robin had sat on my outreached hand while butterflies danced around my head. Of course, that didn’t happen, but I wouldn’t have been surprised. There was something in the air that filled my entire body as I took in a deep, slow breath. It was more than excitement. Every cell in me was singing. Dad walked out onto the veranda to join me. Looking out over the beach, he paused and said,   

“Looks like a good day,” in a deeper voice than usual, then walked back inside to make us a cup of coffee.  

Overwhelming relief washed over me as excitement tingled from my toes to my nose. The rain was gone, and I was marrying Brendan Maloney today. Deb and Andy wandered sleepily into the kitchen as Mum put the croissants on the table. She had been fussing for the last half hour preparing a delicious wedding breakfast.  

Bubbles tickled my nose as I sipped Asti Riccadonna, its fresh fruitiness and hints of honey pairing perfectly with the fruit and cheese on the platter in front of me. There were coco pops, too, for anyone wanting a little chocolate before 8am. Mum, Dad, Deb and Andy were now all sitting around the kitchen table with me, we were talking over the top of each other and laughing at Andy’s jokes as we discussed the day ahead. Mum hugged me as we cleared dishes and refilled champagne glasses. I knew today would be a good day.  

Dad stayed at the house so someone would be home if the wedding cars arrived early, while Andy went to collect our bouquets and ticked off other last-minute errands. Meanwhile, Mum, Deb, and I met Sue and my gorgeous nieces at the hairdressers, where our hair and makeup were done, as we sipped champagne and chatted excitedly about the day ahead. When Alice, our hairdresser, pinned the last curl and all lips were glossed, we headed back to Mum and Dad’s to slip into our dresses.

Bren and I had everything planned to the last minute, with some wiggle room. Scott, our photographer, would take family photos half an hour after we returned from our hair and makeup appointments. The cars would arrive at the house just after lunch, and we would leave for the church with just enough time to be 5 minutes late.

Mike, Sue’s husband, drove Mum in Bren’s old, beat-up VW Beetle, dressed up with white wedding ribbons. The bridesmaids followed in three vintage white Beetles adorned with pale blue satin ribbons. Dad and I rode in the back of the duck-egg blue Cabriolet, its white ribbons fluttering gently in the breeze. 

After losing a hubcap on the way, Dad and I ended up lagging a few minutes behind the girls. We must have been quite the sight—Max, the Cabriolet’s owner and driver, Dad in his suit, and me in my wedding dress, all wandering along the roadside looking for it. Thankfully, the hubcap had made a loud clanging noise as it came off, so it didn’t take long to find it.

The other cars had waited for us to catch up a block from the church. Mike beeped the horn of Bren’s old car as all the little beetles pulled into the curb in front of the quaint little wooden church my Mum and Dad married in many decades before. A small crowd of locals waved and shouted congratulations as we arrived. Andy went ahead and caught everything on video. I have it on good authority that the groom cried when he heard his old Beetle’s horn beep.  

Our two little flower girls, Jordi and Tori, stepped carefully out of the car, clutching their rainbow-coloured summer posies as if their lives depended on it. Dressed in sky-blue satin, tulle, and silk organza, they took their role very seriously and looked every bit the little angels they were. White rosebud circlets crowned their sweetly swished hair, as perfect as any halo. I heard a collective sigh from the crowd as each of the six girls emerged from the cars, one by one. Our older nieces, Kahli and Teagan—big sisters to the flower girls, served as junior bridesmaids, while Sue and Deb were our senior bridesmaids. All four wore sky-blue sheath dresses made of fabric so fluid it looked like water, each of them radiant with smiles as bright as the sun that blessed our day. 

My heart burst as Mum fussed over all of us, stunning in navy, from her gorgeous, oversized hat to her heels. It is a feeling I will never forget. Dad helped me out of the car. He was beaming, too, and looked handsome in his new suit. Bren and I tried not to laugh one night, several weeks before, when he walked out of his bedroom in the old black suit he had worn to Sue and Mike’s wedding 15 years before. Dogged in his efforts to fasten the jacket buttons, they came together but looked like they were about to pop one by one any second.  

“See, love, I told you I wouldn’t need a new suit,” Dad said, looking at Mum for approval.  

“Yes, you do,” she replied quickly, looking at Bren, mouthing the words “told you so,” and winking with a conspiratory smile that had us almost rolling on the floor laughing.  

Dad, tall and handsome in his brand-new suit, took my arm and asked if I was ready. Although I had forgotten to put my earrings on, the simplicity of my silk sheath gown with a stunning chiffon overlay and train, carefully designed and created by one of my closet friends, Ali, needed only the elbow-length veil and long white satin gloves I wore to make me feel beautiful. Arm in arm with Dad, we followed the girls up the little path to the church door. Pausing momentarily, I took a deep breath and nodded; I was ready. Jodi, our soloist, sang Looks Like We Made It by Shania Twain, and then the wedding march played. I was nervous as I walked up the aisle. I don’t know why. It could have been that all eyes were now on me, and I had never felt comfortable with that. Or maybe the enormity of the commitment we were about to make to each other had just fallen square on my slim, tanned shoulders. The weight of which lifted the minute my eyes met Brens. Like mine, his were full of tears. As soon as I saw him, I knew we were ready for forever.  

We walked into the reception to The Wannadies, You and Me song. And that’s when the party started. Bren held the crowd in his hands with a heartfelt and funny speech. The fact that he meant every word was evident in how he looked at me. Then, it was my dad’s turn. I knew he was nervous. He stood, raised his glass, and said,  

“Callie and Brendan, the sun shone on you both today. I hope it shines on you for the rest of your lives.” Bren and I cried. It was the perfect speech. One my husband and I would reminisce about many times in the years that followed.  

We laughed and danced the night away, and at one stage, my brother-in-law Mike stripped naked and ran across the stage to a look of bemusement from the DJ and loud applause from the guests. Jordi, one of the little flower girls and daughter of the stripper, gathered up his clothes and gave them back to him, telling him to put them back on, to even more applause. Bren and I left sometime after midnight—the honeymoon had begun. 

April 2, 2000 

“You nervous?” I asked. The sun wasn’t up yet, and Bren had been quietly padding around our hotel room, gathering all the essentials that would get him through the day. 

Systematically, he put each item in its place so it would be within reach when needed. His bike was leaning against the wall with his sports bag, balancing on the saddle, everything now inside. Swim cap and goggles were last in as he would need them first—he already had his speedos on and was wandering around in them. There was just enough light coming through the crack of the bathroom door for me to make out the muscle definition in his shoulders, back, abs, arms, and legs. I loved his body; he was strong and lean, but mostly I loved how his wide smile enhanced the curve of his high cheekbones when he looked at me. 

“What are you looking at?” He asked. 

“You,” I said, sitting up and pulling the doona under my chin. “Is it cold out there?” 

“Nah, not really,” 

“Are you nervous?” I asked again. 

“Yes, I am,” he said, kissing me. “Now get up. We have to be there in 20.” 

The cool April morning turned into a beautiful day as the sun rose. Bren had been training for more than a year for this race, including the lead-up to our wedding and while on our honeymoon. That was the commitment required. I couldn’t calculate the hours he had dedicated to qualifying, and that ramped up to compete. It was a lot. Nor could I help but think all the athletes racing had to be a little crazy to want to do it. We pulled into a car park as close to the starting line as possible, and Bren started unloading his gear. The party atmosphere in the town of Forster was already building. Its population swelled for this event as people worldwide converged to race, along with their support crews. I clearly remember a spark of electricity passing through the crowd like the little silver ball in a pinball machine. I could feel it bouncing off everyone it touched. Bren had to pee for about the 45th time while preparing to take the start line. The beginning of the swim leg was the most nerve-racking part of the day for him, as pre-race hydration and jitters worked his bladder over time. 

The sun had hit the river, making it shimmer, as the smell of collective self-doubt and anxiety mixed with excitement and expectation filled the air. The race would start at 7 am, only minutes away. Almost one thousand athletes would be racing when the starters’ horn blared. My husband was one of them, and he looked fierce. For professional athletes, the race would be over in around 8 hours. To become an Ironman, officially, all athletes had to finish in 16 and a half hours, from memory. Those who just made the cut-off or didn’t get there in time to beat the clock would receive as big a cheer from the waiting crowd when they crossed the finish line as those who came in first. It was a race for everyone. You raced if you were willing to do the gruelling training and qualified. And if you raced, you earned the respect of all those watching and racing with you, no matter what finish time you recorded. 

Bren was competitive but not at the risk of taking the fun out of a race he had dreamt of competing in for years. He and three mates crossed the finish line that day; Mike (our brother-in-law), Paul, and Richard. Bren loved racing in any race these guys were competing in. It was a good day for Brendan Maloney. He was smiling every time he passed me; after the 3.86 km swim and several more times during the 180.25km bike ride and 40.20km marathon. His happiness was infectious, not necessarily understandable, but infectious. I made sure I was standing where he could see me cheering him home and that I was close enough to give him a high-five as he ran down the finisher shoot.  

He spotted me, exhaustion consuming a body he was keeping upright through mental strength and physical power, that he was losing by the second. Almost collapsing in my arms when he reached me, he kissed me hard and went on to finish, crying and laughing at the same time, arms outstretched in victory, as he crossed the line. I saw his knees buckle just a little from relief and now all-consuming exhaustion as the finisher’s towel was placed around his shoulders and the medal around his neck. He had been racing for almost ten and a half hours. I had never loved him more or been happier for him. He had done it. Finishing was his dream come true. And then I heard the race caller yell loudly over the speaker system, as he did for everyone who crossed the finish line,  

“Brendan Maloney, you are an Ironman.” 

I cried.  

Bren competed again in 2002. Now a two-time Australian Ironman finisher, he smashed his own time when he crossed the finish line. He could not imagine another challenge bringing him so much joy. Little did he know he would take on the next one soon.