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JUNE 6-JULY 25, 1987—SYRACUSE, NEW YORK (18 MONTHS LATER)I’ve been in this world a year and a half now, and I’ve adapted well, for the most part. I’m sitting in a pew in Assumption Church watching a fidgety Phil Taratoni wait for his bride to come down the aisle. Next to me are my son and wife. Monie has put aside her rabid hatred of being anywhere near a cathedral and is supporting her friend’s wedding celebration. It helps that the priest conducting the ceremony isn’t the man she abhors. I don’t think she could endure it if that were the case. For me, sitting here is surreal. My wife in another life is getting married into the family I’m part of. I don’t know how to put this, except that I’m neither upset or wanting over it right now. Rather, I’m conflicted.
I turn to Monie. “How yo
