My daughter's wedding

My daughter's wedding took place on a warm, humid night in June, in the courtyard of a unique little venue that once was a small town bank. 

The mother of the groom and I spent many sweaty hours trying to bring my daughter's vision to life, strategically placing silk flowers, votive candles, and bud vases. It was a simple celebration for a young couple just starting out, with one set of parents who are retirees. There was a budget.

She was just stunning in her sparkling white dress and veil, her long jet black hair in soft waves around her face. I had seen her in her dress numerous times since it arrived at our door via UPS, but seeing her all put together with hair and makeup done to perfection just took my breath away. It was the first time I cried.

The groom was handsome -- hot -- in his tuxedo. So was her dad. I mean ... June. Courtyard. Louisiana summer. Hot. 

They didn't invite a bunch of people they didn't know to this celebration. None of mom's or dad's old work friends, nor distant relatives they never see or hear from. They wanted to be surrounded by people they knew and loved. Family. Friends.

Her first mother, Gail, was under the weather but Lora's half-sister came. Her other sister caught the bouquet. Her nieces were the flower girls. I was her "Something Blue." Her Godparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and several members of her new family she has met only a few times made the trip from several points east and west.

It made me miss my own mama, my brother, and my sister.

But my best friend since the eighth grade was there, just as she was on the day Lora was born, when she surprised me and spent the day keeping me calm and sane as I held my new baby while her first mother watched. On this day, she held on to me when I cried while we watched my husband dance with his baby girl.

There wasn't much dancing, though -- it was much too hot - but there was a lot of love and hope and joy. Familiar faces gathered to celebrate this happy occasion -- my daughter's wedding. 

When adoptive parents receive a child from another woman, a lot of people boldly ask, "Why did she give her away?"

And I figured that one day my little girl would ask me the same question. I was ready.

I found a quote on the internet that I loved and latched on to for my reply: "She didn't give her away. She gave her to me." 

At my daughter's wedding, the minister, a friend of theirs, asked my husband Marty, "Who gives this woman in marriage?'

"My wife and I do," he replied.

And I thought of those words I used so often so long ago.

We didn't give her away. We gave her to Gavin. For safekeeping. To have and to hold. To love and to cherish. In sickness and in health. 

He did ask, so he better do it right. 

We trust him to take care of her, to make her happy, to see to her needs, to make sure she grows old in good health, to make sure she visits us once in a while.

Gail chose us to receive her child. 

Lora chose Gavin to receive ours. 

So now I have a son-in-law and a whole new set of in-laws/out-laws by marriage. We welcome them to our own crazy blended family of steps, halves, and adoptees. 

We know that every step our children take in their lives is really a step away from us. That makes us mamas proud, but it also makes us sad. 

My daughter's wedding was another step in her life's journey forward, even though it takes her another step away from me, from us. 

But now she has a partner by her side to make sure she gets there safely.

Wedding Week

 

There's a brand new sparkly white dress hanging on the back of the door to the bedroom she hasn't lived in for a long time.

There's a sparkly white veil hanging on the mirror next to it.

There are a couple of boxes of new shoes.

Something new.

There is a small ancient hand-sewn bag embossed with the name "Evelyn."  It was my grandmother's, probably for her first communion. I carried this same bag at my wedding. Eveylyn is Lora Leigh's middle name.

Something old.

Our Trophy Room/office is filled with wreaths, silk flowers, photographs, frames and ribbons. There's also a pair of ivory silk baskets that once were filled with rose petals and carried -- on the day of my wedding --  by my stepdaughter and my niece.

Something borrowed.

Hopefully, all of it will come together this week at a venue called The Bank. It really used to be a bank back in the early 1900s, but now it's a unique, rustic wedding and party venue.

And Friday night it will be the site of my daughter Lora Leigh's wedding.

The little baby girl that Gail handed to me on that amazing January day nearly 25 years ago is getting married. She will put on that sparkly white dress, the sparkly veil and her new shoes. She will carry her self-made bouquet and her dad will walk her up to a fine young man named Gavin. She will become his wife. Then she will be changing the name her father and I gave her.

She will become a Branch.

Fitting don't you think? A new branch... branching out... leaving the next on our branch to create her own...

I will be sitting first chair, with a box of tissues, wearing my own sparkly dress and corsage. Blue. 

I am her Something Blue.

I've been trying not to, but I've been crying intermittently for weeks as I think about the event on the horizon. For some reason,  the song "Sunrise, Sunset" keeps rolling through my brain. 

And "Slipping Through My Fingers" from Mama Mia.

"A Thousand Years."

"My Girl"

"I Hope you Dance."

When she went off to college I made her a playlist of all the songs that said all the things I wanted to say to her as she left my nest. She says she listened to it. All of those songs are on it and many, many more that I hoped would explain what was in my heart.  I mean, even the best writers need a little help now and then saying what they want to say on occasions such as this. Especially when you're a crier like me.

What I want to say is, --

My darling girl,

 I waited for you forever, but you were the one I was meant to have all along. And you have filled my world with love and fun and all the colors of the rainbow.  You are the frosting on my cake, the ketchup in my red beans, the pickles in my chili Fritos. I was there when you were born (well, sorta) and I guided you through this life. I always tried to give you everything I could. Now you are a beautiful grown woman building a life of your own. My dandelion seed is flying..

I cry because I'm sad to see you go, but also because I have so much hope for your future.  I hope you love. and are loved -- fiercely.  I hope you are devoted to each other as your dad and I have been to each other. I hope you have fewer bumps in your road. I hope you continue to dream in color. I hope you dance and sing and laugh together.  I hope your skies are always blue. . 

And I'll be here for you as long as I can. Please visit often.

Love, Mom