On Saturday, after months of planning (read: obsessing in spurts), my best friend, Elizabeth, married her boy, John.
And I loved this wedding, perhaps more than any other shared moment of my life so far.
Although John's family has been deeply, actively involved in every step of this wedding as well, for the purposes of this entry, I can really only describe my impressions of Elizabeth's family, having known them longer. And I loved watching this family love their daughter and sister, my best friend. Months of stress and planning have frayed nerves and depleted reserves, but when plans and supplies and people converged in one place, and as stresses were, one by one, set up into beautiful displays of ketubahs and bouquets, cookies and cakes, beautiful music and an atmosphere swelling with supportive presence - I loved to watch Elizabeth's family, and John's family, gather up all of the tasks in the last few days, streamline them into a beautiful path forward, and place Elizabeth facing the sun to walk down the aisle. I loved watching Elizabeth's family members, particularly mother and brother, love her forward in all the ways of their jumble of strong personalities - ranging from brusquely whipping plans into shape, to the quiet, smooth execution of invulnerable timelines half-hibernating for weeks, neither willing to betray the soft spots from which it all flowed, but both undone by their love for their grownup baby girl in a repeated shrug/slight-smile mantra: it's what Elizabeth wants.
I loved to surreptitiously watch the flower girl, as the bridal party gathered in that cramped, freezing cabin to ready the bride for her groom. I loved watching her stand off toward a corner, then catching her eye, smiling, patting the bed next to me, helping her navigate the jumble of makeup and fabric tape strewn across the quilt, gently teasing out her delight in her daisy-crowned ringlets and fancy dress. I loved her questions, and gauging how vulnerable they made her feel, gauging my own answers to match, and lightheartedly and completely answering questions about strapless bras, eyeliner, bouquets, the duties of a bridesmaid, brushing a light swish of petal-pink blush across her small cheeks and silently praying, with slight, sudden tears, as she watched it all unfold for the first time, that she would always claim her place in the company of strong and joyful women, and that her own romantic future will bring her bright, empowering peace, and joy unspeakable.
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| Mommy and Daddy of the bride. |
I loved the frenzy, the jumble, the controlled chaos, the teamwork. I loved the lack of sleep, and (most of) the stress. I love that my feet are still killing me from my heels sinking into the dirt (my "thirty-minute shoes"); I love that, as I wore them, I was tipsy enough (at the time) to bear them just fine, briefly aided by the arm of a handsome boy; even more, I loved exchanging them for flip-flops (because I left my cute flats in Florida); I loved that I did not completely break my neck every time my flip-flops slipped in the kitchen. And, in the kitchen, I loved fixing the "ELIZABETH IS HUNGRY RIGHT NOW" meal, the afternoon before her wedding; I chuckled to realize I was filling two plates with cold peach-tea chicken*, pulled pork, hardboiled eggs, baked peans, grapes, apples, vegetables, cheddar - Lisa. Dial it back. That dress has a corset, honey.
I loved, in a darker, somber fashion, meditating on what I hope for John and Elizabeth after the giddy joy of their wedding has mellowed. I think that, if I were to have offered a toast, it would have been this: It's almost cliche, or trite, to offer a toast to your happiness. I do wish for your happiness, but more than that, I hope that the bigger picture of determined happiness is always in front of you. I hope that, when happiness flows easily and brightly, you lean back and bask in the gentleness of your life together. And I hope that, when you encounter struggle, or loss, or illness, or conflict - I hope, for you, for stamina, and courage, and vulnerability, and, more than anything, a commitment to individual personal inventory, so that, even when you can't find it, you might always know yourselves deeply enough that you can navigate your way to happiness together. I hope, and pray, and believe, that, no matter what, you can always find your way back to that spot near where my heels were sinking into the dirt.
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| Photo by Deb Sweeney Wick |
I loved watching my radiant best friend - fellow Booh-Bah hater, fellow years-long Nabucco Dinosaur singer, fellow survivor, fellow food obsessor, my kindred in meaningful things and in everything ridiculous, my sister in every single way that matters - I loved that my life included standing for her as she walked toward her love in a reverent, emotional pagentry of sunlight. I remembered brushing the swish of petal-pink blush across her cheeks an hour earlier, breathing back tears, and silently praying flower-girl prayers of brightness, empowering peace, and joy unspeakable.
I would not have missed these moments for anything. I would have fought bees? for them. Or even Newt Gingrich in a monkey suit.*
*dude... I'd kill for more of that chicken. Right now. I'd kill you for it. Not really, but I'd consider it.
**and if you've never played a game called Cards Against Humanity, you should.
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