A Wedding In The Family
Photo courtesy of Janet Stephens, Second Level Studios, Lafayette, IN and Chris Deckard of Velvet Lotus Photography
full set of teeth, and has been gainfully employed for the past four years. A wedding in the family is one of those events that pulls you up short. Like a death or a birth, it yanks your head around, away from your twitter, your job, your routine, all the mundane repetitions of daily life, and demands that you sit up and pay attention. Something important is about to happen.
In this instance, Sean married Christina, a thoughtful decision that evolved over eight years, the newlyweds having met the first week of college. My daughter made a fateful determination based upon her review of a Facebook page. The page contained information about incoming freshmen provided by the university. She spotted Sean immediately. “He’s going to be my boyfriend,” she announced. Anyone who knows my daughter knows that when she makes a decision about something it will happen. And so it did. What Sean’s side of the story is, I have yet to discover. Thus far, he’s not talking.
All weddings contain bittersweet elements I suppose. For a parent, marriage is the ultimate statement that children have left the nest. Or that is what the goal should be. After they get married they aren’t supposed to turn up again on a permanent basis though they are allowed visits and to leave the kids with Granny while they jet off to Aruba. In theory there is no going back, childhood is over. So while I am ecstatic for the happy couple, I have to admit to feeling a certain amount of sadness as a long chapter of my life is now officially closed.
This particular wedding had some bitter that isn’t normally associated with weddings. Last month my dad, the bride’s grandfather, was diagnosed with leukemia. He’s eighty-eight. There are a hundred and one things that might kill him before the disease does. To cheer ourselves up we’ve spent time enumerating those possibilities, but still, knowing you are harboring the means of your own destruction is a downer. During the weeks prior to the wedding it loomed over the festivities like an unwelcome Thanksgiving guest that refuses to leave.
The groom is Irish, as are we. However, his roots expand inter-continentally to the old country. It must have been a balm to the spirit of my tired old father to hear the melodic lilt of his childhood spoken once again last weekend. I watched the years fall away as he joyously conversed with my son-in-law’s Irish relatives. He was no doubt transported back to his youth when all the neighbors were Keatings, O’Meras, and McCarthys. Maybe you can go home again, even if only for a few brief minutes at a wedding.
One has to cherish the contributions that family and friends made to create such a supportive launch for the newlyweds. My oldest daughter took her maid of honor duties especially seriously. It became a second (or maybe third) job as during the period leading up to the wedding she finished up a masters degree, worked full time, and moved her household to a different city and new job after graduation. The showers, bachelorette party, and wedding preparations that she oversaw ran like clockwork. Her talent for attention to detail displayed itself with tight scheduling for hair and make up for the bridesmaids, and assistance with transportation for the wedding party to the venue. She sent out numerous lists of who was to be where when so the bride didn’t have to deal with these questions.
Her prepared remarks at the wedding dinner reveal the deep connection she has to her sister and demonstrated the love they share as siblings. It is remarkable how close they are, and I am grateful for it. My intention with having two children spaced only two years apart (aside from the fact I was an older mother and the biological clock was winding down) was that having two meant that there was always someone to play with. As I used to tell them, “That’s why there are two of you.” The relationship they share should serve them well over the rest of their lives. They understand each other in a way no one else ever could.
The groom’s family proved to be incredible hosts for the event, as it was held near his home, close to Lake Michigan. The work my daughter’s in-laws put in to find venues, hotels, catering, and a place with a lake view for the rehearsal dinner was a gift that I will always appreciate. The memory of my daughter’s new mother-in-law dancing with bare-foot abandon all evening long will warm me on many cold winter nights to come. She threw herself into this event with such joy and love.
This was also a reunion of sorts. Most of the groomsmen and bridesmaids were college friends of the couple. They had watched the relationship grow from its infancy and were thrilled to be present at the culmination – a result many of them saw coming eight years ago. Some hadn’t seen each other since graduation. The old gang was together again. And, since they all attended a music school, when the groom’s friends serenaded the bride accapella, the result was lovely harmony, even if the singers were three sheets to the wind by that time.
Close friends provided the gifts of their talents and skills, including the photographer, a woman of uncommon genius when it comes to seeing a shot. No doubt the pictures will be the work of a fine artist. Another friend of the bride, an events planner, contributed her amazing organizational abilities to ensure it all came together without a noticeable hitch.
The result was that my daughter’s wedding day was a brilliant day, a rare day, not so much because of the event itself, but because of the overwhelming support and love on full display among the many family and friends who attended. Now, a week later, the afterglow still lingers, softly shining around the edges of the days that have followed, as they slip gently into the past; a golden spot in time that lights the future.
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