by Jill Kelly
Jim was wrapped up with football; I didn’t want to bother him. But I did need to know if I was pregnant, so I decided to purchase a home pregnancy test. The entire scenario was so foreign to me that I didn’t realize how many different versions of tests were available. Even if I had known, I felt so embarrassed that the last thing I would have wanted to do was linger in a store and compare brands.
I hurriedly purchased the cheapest test and called my close friend Mary and asked her if I could stop over. Little did she know that my plan was to take the pregnancy test in her home. I didn’t want to be alone.
Many thoughts surged through my already-cluttered mind: What if I’m pregnant? Everyone will know. How will I tell my parents? What have I done? I should have never moved into that house. I was terrified.
Once I took the test, I handed Mary the stick. “What does this mean?” I asked. Her eyes widened and she looked at me with a smile. “Well, it looks like that’s a solid line right there, so…”
“Does that mean I’m pregnant?” I interrupted. Then, panicked, I rationalized: “But you touched it, so maybe it’s wrong. Maybe I didn’t follow the directions properly. I think I should go buy another test—a better one—and do it again. What do you think?”
We laughed off the initial test—figuring I’d gotten what I’d paid for—but I was starting to worry. Surely the positive reading was a mistake, right? The best thing to do was to head to the nearest store and purchase the most expensive pregnancy test available. And that’s exactly what I did.
The second test read positive as well.
Mary took one look at the stick and walked toward me with arms outstretched. “Jill, what are you going to do?” she whispered as she hugged me close.
“I have to call my mom,” I replied. “She’s in Chicago, but I can’t wait until she gets back. I have to call her today. Like right now.”
This predicament seemed unimaginable, even though my own actions had brought me to this point. A rush of reality slammed into my so-called perfect world as Mary and I sat together and wept.
When we walked outside and over to my truck, Mary tried to encourage me. “Jill, whatever you need, I’m here for you. Give me a call after you talk to your mom, okay?”
We hugged one more time and then I drove away. I was a fearful mess, pondering all sorts of scenarios in my head. Now what? How am I going to tell my parents? How am I going to tell Jim? What will he say? What if he wants me to get an abortion? That is not an option.
I was absolutely overwhelmed. Jim’s bachelor pad wasn’t ready for a baby. But more importantly, neither were Jim and I.
My mother was away on business, but the phone call had to be made. When she got on the line, I nervously blurted out the news: “Mom, I’m sorry for calling you while you’re traveling but I need to talk to you…. Mom, I’m pregnant.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “How do you know?” Then, “Oh my, Jill, I can’t believe you’re telling me this over the phone. I’ll try and get the next flight out of Chicago. And don’t worry, everything’s going to be okay. I’ll be home as soon as I can get there.”
I can only imagine what was going through my mother’s mind as I shared the details of my afternoon at Mary’s house. “Mom, what am I going to do?” I asked. “I’m scared to tell Dad; he’s going to freak out. How am I going to tell Jim?”
Thankfully, my mom was able to cancel her meetings and take the next flight out of Chicago. As soon as she got into town, my mother, who was and is my best friend, met me at a restaurant, where we spent the majority of our time together in tears. We decided that she would be the one to tell my father and brother. The one thing I remember my mother saying was, “We will be here for you no matter what, Jill.”
While comforted and encouraged by her words, I was also terribly ashamed. Afraid of how my father would react, I couldn’t help but wonder, Will he still love me? Will he support me no matter what?
What a mess.
My brother, Jack, has since told me that both he and Dad were understandably shocked at the news. Initially, my father was angry and fearful. He felt helpless and wanted to make sure Jim would do the right thing. He certainly didn’t want his daughter to be abandoned by some flamboyant football star.
Fortunately, as vulnerable and concerned as my parents felt, they were determined to support me through thick and thin. In the meantime, I was grappling with perhaps the most frightening questions of all: How in the world would I tell Jim? When should I tell him?
He had an important game coming up, and I didn’t want to break the news before then. The distraction could ruin his concentration and negatively affect his play, I reasoned. If the team lost, he might blame it all on me. Then where would that leave us?
While I tried to figure out the best approach and timing with Jim, there was one thing I clearly needed to do: confirm the pregnancy officially. I had a blood test done, and on September 21, the results came back—positive. The secret couldn’t wait any longer. Jim needed to know.
The following afternoon, after a long day of practice and reviewing game films, Jim walked wearily into the house. I met him at the door and told him we needed to talk. Intimate communication was a challenge for us at the time. Jim was a bottom-line guy, a vigilant, hard-core leader who wanted everything simple and to the point. My way, on the other hand, was to elaborate and talk things through… thoroughly. We walked back to our bedroom, where I took a seat in his favorite recliner. He sat on the couch nearby.
Initially I held it together while we talked about the day’s events. But as soon as I started to tell him about missing my period, I fell apart. The words wouldn’t come out.
Jim was shaken but unusually calm. “Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly.
Nervously, I struggled through the details, even telling him about my pregnancy test experience at Mary’s, which ended up providing a much-needed moment of comic relief for us. The fleeting laughter was welcomed with open arms, and suddenly so was I.
Jim couldn’t have been more loving. He gathered me in his embrace, assuring me that everything was going to be okay. “Jill, you know I love kids, and you know I love you. We’re just going to have children sooner than I expected, that’s all. It will all work out. I know it will. So don’t worry, and please stop crying. We’re going to be fine.”
Always the optimist, Jim talked about doing the “right thing” and getting married before the child was born. We also discussed how he would tell his parents and five brothers, and how we would handle the media frenzy once the word got out. Although I knew Jim was stunned, he was very tender and honorable. And yet in spite of his confident, calm exterior, inwardly he was afraid, too.
I was probably most concerned about how Jim’s mother, Alice, would respond. She had raised six rough-and-tumble boys, and she deserved every bit of the respect she commanded. As the grand matriarch of the Kelly clan, if she didn’t like you—you were history.
Jim had gotten his mother’s approval to continue dating me, but now what? She hadn’t been crazy about our living together to begin with, and now I was carrying her son’s child! Would this woman, who didn’t allow Jim and me to sleep in the same room whenever she was around, blame me? She’d made it very clear that the marital bed was to be respected. What if Jim’s entire family shuns me? I thought. What if they convince Jim to leave me and I’m forced to become a single mother? What am I going to do?
I wasn’t present when Jim told his mom and dad that we were pregnant, and their disappointed response, while expected, made me feel all the more awkward and alienated. However, after the initial shock of it wore off, life went on as usual. At least it seemed to for everyone but me.
Eventually the focus drifted back to winning football games, with Jim’s family assuming their game-day demeanor: food, football, and fun. Despite the difficult circumstances, I remember those days fondly. Jim’s family looked forward to every home game, and so did I.
In fact, every time the Buffalo Bills t
ook the field at Rich Stadium/Ralph Wilson Stadium, the entire Kelly family suited up for a weekend of memories. Win or lose, they were ready to party. Everyone had a role to play, and what appeared to be complete chaos was actually a well-organized and structured game-day routine. In fact, game day was more like a production.
Tailgating and pregame warm-up festivities began as soon as the Kelly boys flew into town. Jim’s aunt Toni from Pittsburgh would prepare the secret pregame spaghetti sauce on Saturday while friends and family huddled around the basement party room at Kelly’s Irish Pub.
While Jim was at the hotel mentally preparing, the rest of the family and countless friends prepared our house for the much-anticipated pre- and postgame action. Jim’s dad, Joe, and his five brothers—Pat, Ed, Ray, Danny, and Kevin—readied the motor home for Kelly-style tailgating, while the sisters-in-law dressed the children in number 12 jerseys.
Jim’s close friend and housemate, Tommy Good, was always the guy in charge. He was the keeper of game tickets and everything else important, so of course everybody wanted to please Tommy. As Jim’s trusted confidant, “T-Good,” as we called him, protected all that concerned the Kelly family. Knowing I had earned Alice Kelly’s respect and approval, I was determined to get to know this guy. And I did. Our many confrontations and shared celebrations eventually produced such a friendship and trust that Tommy is our firstborn’s, Erin Marie’s, godfather—an honor he takes very seriously.
While T-Good dished out the best seats in the stadium, the rest of the Kelly clan focused on cold Crown Royal shots, Coors Light, spicy tailgate chili, and redneck fun. Our tailgates were the envy of Bills fans. Everyone knew where to find the Kelly motor home, but Big Ed made sure most folks kept their distance.
One Bills Drive was, and in a way still is, our second home.
Chapter 3
Mr. and Mrs. Quarterback
As my relationship with Jim grew, my life gradually became all about football. Or should I say, all about Jim Kelly. Though I was still in my early twenties, my identity was being swallowed up in what appeared to be every woman’s dream. I was no longer Jill Waggoner but the girlfriend of Jim Kelly, All-Pro quarterback for the Buffalo Bills.
Then on November 2, 1994, my situation shifted drastically yet again.
“Will you marry me?”
It was a magical moment filled with emotion. After months of wondering and waiting, Jim finally proposed. There was nothing unusual about that evening at Ilio DiPaolo’s restaurant, not initially anyway. The owner, Dennis, a dear friend of the Kelly family, sat us in the back of his Italian bistro in our favorite private room—the Buffalo Room. Decorated with all sorts of Bills memorabilia and very isolated, it was the perfect spot for Jim to pop the long-awaited question.
We ordered the usual that evening—the Abruzzi Platter for Jim and Chicken Abruzzi for me. When it came time for dessert, which I happen to love, Jim told me that Dennis had prepared something extra-special for us. Still oblivious to what Jim had planned, I agreed to try the dessert surprise. Little did I know that dessert that evening would come with a three-carat-diamond engagement ring!
As Jim asked me to close my eyes, I never dreamed that when I opened them again my world would change forever. While I sat there waiting in the corner of the Buffalo Room, Dennis and our photographer, Danny—whom Jim had brought in to make sure we would have tangible memories of this special evening—scurried quietly behind the scenes to ensure the moment would be perfect.
“Open your eyes,” Jim said.
I did, and in front of me on the table was a beautiful heart-shaped cake with a sparkling diamond ring placed in the center. Inscribed on the cake were the words, “Will you marry me?”
Completely overwhelmed, I blinked back tears amid the flash of cameras.
I was speechless.
“Well, will you?” Jim asked nervously.
I just looked at him as he dropped to his knees, grabbed my hands, and asked again, “Will you marry me, Jill?”
As Jim reached for the engagement ring, I whispered, “Yes, yes, yes, I will.” Jim wiped the frosting off the most beautiful ring I had ever laid eyes on and gently slipped the shimmering symbol of our love on my finger, then hugged me like never before.
I was surprised and relieved, but also scared. In the midst of the most amazing proposal a woman could hope for, fear and doubt cast a shadow across my heart. A shadow that had probably first arisen on that September night years before at Jim’s party when I’d seen the many photos of women on Jim’s wall. As happy as I was, part of me wondered—Does Jim really love me? Do I love him? Is this for real? Will this love go the distance and endure until death do us part? Is he marrying me because I’m carrying his firstborn child? I wanted so badly to be certain and longed for assurance. Unfortunately, these questions would linger uneasily in my heart and mind for years to come.
Jim and I had discussed getting married before Erin Marie was born, but we also envisioned a grand wedding fit for a Super Bowl quarterback and his one-and-only cheerleader. (Contrary to rumor, I had never been a Buffalo Jill—the official name of the Bills’ cheerleaders—I think my name consistently caused that confusion.) After talking it through, Jim and I opted to wait so we could savor every aspect of planning the event of our lifetime.
As tough and manly as Jim is, he was very much involved in the details of our wedding. From our engagement to our fairy-tale honeymoon in Italy, Jim was into it. We spent many nights mulling over all sorts of ceremony specifics: Where would we get married? What type of entertainment and food should we have? Is there a venue big enough to accommodate over nine hundred guests? Eventually we realized we were in way over our heads, so we hired a wedding planner.
At this point in our life, money was no object, so everything had to be top-notch. My search for the perfect wedding dress began in Buffalo. Believe it or not, I ended up purchasing the first dress I tried on. However, in order to exhaust all my options, my girlfriends and I made a weekend trip to New York City, hitting the top couture wedding salons.
We set out to find the most beautiful gown, only to discover that the higher-end shops wouldn’t take us seriously. It reminded me of the scene in the movie Pretty Woman, where the salespeople in exclusive retail stores snub Julia Roberts because she doesn’t appear to be their class of client. Unfortunately for their gross profit that day, the stores we visited in New York City weren’t gracious enough to learn that I was a Super Bowl quarterback’s fiancée!
Regardless of the treatment we received, our trip to the city was a blast. Perhaps it was just as well that we didn’t find a dress that weekend. The designer gown I selected was featured in the February 10, 1997, issue of People magazine as one of the ten best wedding dresses of the year. The late Carolyn Bessette (John F. Kennedy Jr.’s wife) and top fashion model Christie Brinkley were also part of the top ten—not bad company for a twenty-six-year-old from Western New York.
The gown, elaborately hand-made by Italian designer Pino Lanchetti, consisted of three separate pieces of Italian silk, tulle, and lace; a strapless silk crepe sheath; and a long-sleeved, white lace overlay complete with sixty-seven individual buttons down the back and a detachable silk tulle overskirt. My fairy-tale princess dress was a bear to get on and off, so it’s a good thing I had plenty of bridesmaids to assist me on my wedding day.
Our wedding party was huge, consisting of twenty-six people that included close friends from high school and college as well as family and some of Jim’s teammates. Jim’s younger brother Danny was the best man, and my best friend from Notre Dame High School, Karyn, was the maid of honor. Except for my cousin Jessica, a born-again Christian at the time, our group was a bunch of hard-core partiers.
The fun began as soon as gifts started arriving, right after we sent out wedding invitations. Jim and I had registered locally for the usual—china, crystal, and other impractical household clutter. So we were truly surprised when a huge wooden pallet loaded with toilet paper arrived. It was comp
letely intended as a joke, but it ended up being the most talked-about and useful—if unusual—gift of all. Finding storage space for that much toilet paper was not easy, and I’m sure our neighbors thought we had serious bathroom issues. Incredibly, we used our last roll almost a year to the day of our wedding. Imagine that.
Come May 18, 1996—our wedding day—hundreds of onlookers lined the boulevard entrance of St. Christopher’s Roman Catholic Church outside Buffalo while eager paparazzi packed designated areas, awaiting our arrival. Like most weddings do, the day flew by. As John Barry’s beautiful song “Somewhere in Time” drifted throughout the enormous sanctuary, I linked arms with my father, and he looked at me and whispered, “Are you ready?”
With a nervous smile and a nod of the head, I hugged him. Then off we headed, down the aisle. Cameras flashed all around us as we slowly made our way to the front of the sanctuary. It was all so perfect.
After Jim hugged my dad, he took my hand and escorted me up the altar steps. Reverend Philip Oriole, a close friend from Pennsylvania, and Monsignor Francis Weldgen, chaplain for the Buffalo Bills, cracked a few jokes to kick off the ceremony.
“Buffalo has been waiting a long time for two things,” Father Fran said. “To win a Super Bowl, and for Jim to get married.” We all laughed.
Jim appeared very calm—not to mention very handsome in his double-breasted, traditional black tuxedo. I, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck. I think part of me was still in shock that I was actually getting married! This is a big deal! A really big deal! I thought to myself. But even on this momentous day, doubt tried to overshadow me: What in the world am I doing here? Who do I think I am, marrying an NFL quarterback?
We had a traditional Catholic wedding ceremony, complete with Gospel readings, the lighting of the unity candle, recitation of the Lord’s Prayer, and the taking of Communion. I tried desperately to take it all in, but the entire day is more a collage of defining moments than detailed memories.
