Yesterday four of our sons and their families gathered together at our home to witness the wedding of our fifth, and youngest son, to his American bride.
After the ceremony ...
the brunch ...
the speeches ...
the cutting of the cakes ...
the reluctant but obligatory family photos …
and a walk with the youngest family member (but not the newest) I took a few moments out to have a cry. Don't get me wrong: I am thrilled and happy for Son#5 and his new wife and I wish them God's richest blessings throughout their life together.
But a part of me is angry. Not at either of them but at COVID-19. At this world and the necessity that prevents families being together at times when they need to gather. Angry that parental rights to see their child married have been denied us in person.
I realise I am one of the lucky ones. Even though I couldn't be there in person I got to watch the entire ceremony and part of the reception. Not that many generations ago mothers in my position had only a letter, often months old, and if they were really fortunate, perhaps a grainy black and white photo, to mark such an occasion. (I'm thinking of the sons who went off to war and found a wife at the same time or those who left home and country to go find their fortune in distant lands, never to return.)
It's every mother's dream - and I suspect, every father's as well - to stand alongside their offspring as they prepare for their big day. To offer last minutes words of advice. To pin the flowers to their buttonhole. To ensure their socks match. To pray. To encourage and whisper, "I love you. I'm so proud of you." To hug one last time their son as a single adult. And then to hear them exchange the words that will change their status and set them on a new and exciting journey that will last their whole life long.
The ceremony was lovely and I really appreciated the Christian aspect that was evident throughout the short but intimate service but those moments of standing beside our son, wishing him the best, giving him away (even if just figuratively), and then welcoming his wife into the family with open arms (literally) were denied us and can never be regained.
Despite what it sounds like, I am okay with all of this. In theory. I understand. They were married with our whole blessing. Nothing changes that. But yesterday in my heart there was still a tiny sting. Not very big but enough to be felt at certain times of the day. And that sting was made worse knowing that he had to stand alone at the altar with no brother or best friend beside him (although his newest brother did the part magnificently); that the friends who congratulated him were not ones he had known since childhood. That he missed the craziness of our family and especially of family photos.
Yet, we do stand with him and congratulate him and welcome his bride into the family. And hope that we don't have to wait too long before we can see them together in person.
[By the way, the heart at the top of this post is one of two I made recently from scraps from my own wedding dress from almost thirty-seven years ago, ribbon from my bouquet, and ribbon from the pew decorations. I sent one with Son#5 asking only that it be used as a reminder of the family from far away in some way - perhaps hung on a doorknob as she prepared for her wedding. I was so touched that DIL#5 chose to carry it with her as part of her bouquet. Also, DIL#1 is missing from some photos due to a migraine she had been nursing for the whole day. There is no need to be alarmed that there is a relationship fracture.]
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