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

All dressed in white

                                             

On Lora Leigh's third birthday, we gave her as magical a princess-themed birthday party as we could without traveling to Florida.

All her invited friends were asked to wear their favorite princess dresses for the occasion. We served them all a fancy princess dinner with little flower-shaped finger sandwiches and magical macaroni and cheese. The cake was a gorgeous castle-shaped concoction that broke my heart just to cut into. And we rented a castle-shaped bounce house.

Lora already had dozens of dress-up costumes, including several princess gowns that she loved to wear to the grocery store. But on the morning of her birthday, I surprised my perpetually pink princess with a brand new pink Sleeping Beauty gown -- the nicer one.

As I tucked her into it and closed up the back,  she stared at herself in the mirror in wonder. "Is that really me?" she seemed to say.

I saw that look again just the other day when my now grown, no longer pink princess of a daughter walked out of the dressing room at Pearl's, the same bridal salon where I purchased my own wedding dress 30 years ago.

For a long time, Lora has insisted that she wanted to wear that long, straight beaded gown that I absolutely adored and that has been tucked away in a sealed box since January of 1995. The problem is, my sweet baby girl who was adopted at birth has none of my genes. 

 I was and still am 5-feet-2 inches tall. She is 5-feet-7. And we have very different body types.

So my dress, which is in perfect shape after we carefully peeled it from the sealed box, does not fit.

Originally, we thought we might be able to alter the dress. I have the 6-foot train of satin and beaded lace to go with it, so perhaps an adept seamstress could use it to add some girth to the dress to make it fit -- plus some length to the bottom. Can it be done?

We took my dress back to Pearl's to ask -- but the indifferent bridal specialist (hmph) told us they don't do alterations. Haven't in a long time. Well, it has been 30 years since I've been there, so...

... but here's a rack of dresses in your size.

We carefully combed through the gigantic poufs of white and ivory tulle, satin, and lace to see if there was something she could try on. 

There was....

She took the first one into the dressing room while I waited in the chairs.

"Do you need help?"

"No. I got it."

And then she came out, all white lace and promises, to stand on the little podium.

And I'll never forget the look on her face as she looked in wonderment at herself in the mirror.

"Is that really me?" she seemed to say.

And so did I.

"Is that really her? Is that my little princess all grown up? Is she really about to be a bride, all dressed in white (or champagne)?"

Yes.

She did not say yes to the dress that day -- although the wild bridal party in the other half of the salon apparently did, judging by the screams, yells and cheers.

On our side, my daughter and I just shared a smile and a memory.

Here Comes the Bride

 

Wearing a black dress and mom's veil. 

My little girl was in love.

There was this boy she got to hang out with just about every day, and she would come home to tell me all about the special things they did together. Usually, it involved watching The Wiggles, sharing snacks, and playing house at Ms. Sue's.

She was 3. I think he was 4. His name was Little Zac -- not to be confused with Big Zac.

One day, she told me all about the wedding she would have complete with her sisters and her best friend Carolyn as bridesmaids. When I asked her what color it would be, she rolled her eyes at me in the universal language of "Duh" and said, "Mom. Pink!"

Now my little girl is 22 and there really is a wedding on the horizon, but it definitely will not be pink. 

My grown-up girl is in love with a grown-up boy named Gavin, who proposed to her Saturday night at the annual Christmas lights display in New Orleans' City Park. It's the same place where her dad proposed to me 30 years ago this week, the day before our engagement party, which we scheduled to take place one year before our scheduled wedding date. It was a countdown. And rather than get down on one knee, he put me up on a carousel horse and stood beside it. 

Gavin did not duplicate his future father-in-law's clever feat, however, perhaps because he has seen my rather large collection of carousel horses to commemorate the event. For a moment, he considered doing it at the huge walk-in whale at the park's Storyland exhibit. But perhaps the image of a future collection of whales all over his house dissuaded him. 

Instead, he chose a lovely spot with a large collection of lit-up dandelions, which he may or may not have known is a special symbol for my girl and me. I bought both of us dandelion necklaces when she went off to college four years ago. Mine was the dandelion puff (Google says it's called a seedball); hers is the seeds flying away. It's a metaphor.

Anyways, before dropping to one knee and popping the question -- to which my beautiful girl replied, "What the fuck?" he knocked on our door to carry out the traditional act of asking her dad for her hand in marriage.

Of course, Dad wasn't home. The baseball coach was off doing baseball coach-y things at a local festival with a bunch of his team parents. There was loud music involved and much talking, so he did not hear his phone when I called him to try and make sure he did not miss out on such a momentous occasion.  Nor did he hear the second time. Nor the third, or fourth, or fifth, or sixth, or seventh. There may have been more.

In desperation, I texted a few people I thought might be with him. One was not. Another did not answer. A third did answer with the reply, "He just left."

Also typical of my husband, he somehow switched off his Life 360, so I had no idea where he was or how far out he might be from home. Meanwhile, the groom-to-be was getting antsy. 

I tried to make conversation to kill some time.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Oh, it was a joke! I mean, he knows how messy she is and how cranky she can be and how stressed she gets over work and money, and how much she spends on beauty products. They've been together for five years, since the summer she finished high school and swore she did not want a boyfriend right before she went away to college but, you know, stuff happens. And they made it through four years of her being a four-hour drive away and living in the dorms and the lockdown that came with Covid. 

But he wasn't there for her first days with us as we prayed that the woman who let us have her would let us keep her. She did, but I guess we always knew that it wouldn't be forever -- not really.  But back then we didn't want to think about the fact that one day some young man would come and sweep her off her feet and take her away to live with him instead of us. And we surely didn't think that he would move her into his house but that she would be leaving most of her stuff in her old bedroom for me to figure out what to do with it all.

And he wasn't there that day my little precocious 3-year-old told me all about the pink wedding she wanted to have.

 I can only wonder if he ever imagined the dark-haired beauty someday walking towards him in a white dress while her mom sobbed on the front row. 

And when he came to my door Saturday night, I don't think he imagined that his future mother-in-law would nearly blow the big surprise.

After her father and I gave our blessings, Gavin went off to pick up Lora and they headed off to City Park. I knew when they arrived because, unlike her dad, Lora does not disable her Life 360. So, with a sappy Hallmark Christmas movie on in the background, I waited for my daughter to make The Call to tell me "Ohmygodmomimengaged!!!"

And I waited.

And I waited.

And I stalked her on Life 360 as she -- they -- made their way around City Park, through Storyland, and the amusement park and, finally, the gardens.

And I waited.

Finally, I got a text with a lovely photo of them kissing near the dandelion lights. OK. It wasn't a phone call, but it was still the moment I was waiting for!

Or so I thought.

Oh Crap... What? Doesn't that look like THE MOMENT! But it wasn't. So now I have to cover! 

Then, holding my breath, I had to wait again.

And Gavin was sure taking his sweet time about it.

Finally!

Whew! I didn't blow it! Gavin didn't mess it up. She said yes -- actually, I think she said "Duh!" after the "WTF."

And all is good!

So now my baby is getting married -- for real. The next day she went out and bought a wedding planner. And her dad and I are wondering if it's tacky to start a wedding GoFundMe. 

Just kidding. 

Maybe.

The happy ENGAGED couple!

Now and forever

I got to do something pretty special last week.

The local War Veterans Home held a wedding vow renewal ceremony for several of its residents.  They sent me to cover it for the newspaper.

I cried the whole time.

The activities director had gone all out with a tulle covered wedding arch, silk bouquets and boutonnierres. Two precious little flower girls.  And there was a handsome young Air National Guardsman to escort the brides over a little pile of silk rose petals.

I stood in the corner wiping my tears as these lovely ladies made their way to their men and saw that age had done nothing to diminish the sparkle in their eyes. One couple had been married 65 years.

I tried to imagine me and The Coach in our golden years. Will we be forced from our home, forced to live in an assisted living center? Will one of us have to take care of the other? Will we be separated? It saddened me just to think of it. I want us together. On a beach somewhere.

After the ceremony, there was cake and punch and oldies music. And I cried the whole time.

Then I wrote a pretty nice little story. Don't miss the video. You'll cry too.

Lo and Mo

Hurricane Katrina taught me one thing... Save the things that can't be replaced. The one thing everyone cried over was the loss of photos. So, since then, I have been dutifully scanning photos and uploading them to safe servers for protection.

I am just getting around to my wedding album....

Lo and Mo Wedding

Dream Weddings and such

When I was planning my "dream" wedding back in 1994, my mom and I butted heads -- A LOT.

You see, I had had many dreams about my wedding day -- what I would wear, where it would be, the color of my bridesmaids dresses and flowers.  I went through the whole, "Rainbow Wedding," dream, the "Barefoot on the Beach," scenario and the "Sound of Music," epic idea. I toyed with the idea of  a tiny roadside chapel, St. Louis Cathedral and Sacred Heart on Loyola's campus.

None of it came to fruition, however. I married a man I never dreamed of in a place I never thought of, angy at my mother.

She never had such dreams, she said. Didn't understand the fuss. She just didn't get it.

But just the other night as my little girl and I cuddled in those last minutes of the day before sleep (my favorite part of the day, mind you), I found out that I was not the only one in my family who dreams of such things. In fact, my 6-year-old daughter laid out her plans for her dream wedding -- as only a 6-year-old can.

"What color will your wedding be?" I asked her.

"I want to wear white," she said, giving me the "silly-for-asking" look.

"No. What color will your girls wear?" I asked.

"Show me your toes," she demanded, then pulled off the covers to look at my silvery  toenail polish. "That color."

"What color will your flowers be?" I asked. Again I got the "silly-for-asking look."

"Mom. I think you know," said my pink-obsessed child.

"Who will be your bridesmaids?" I asked her.

We listed all of her friends -- Carolyn, Marissa, Paige, Chloe and Ashley, her half-sister.

And Courtney gets to be the flower girl.....

"But," she said. "I haven't picked the boy yet."

"You have plenty of time," I told her.

The conversation had begun in a discussion of death -- and life. Would I still be here when she graduated from high school? Would I be there at her wedding? Would Nana? Would Grandma and Pappy? Would Daddy?

"Daddies are supposed to walk with you," she said.

And I thought of Lena. and of Rhett. He got to walk me down the aisle, but not her.

We can only hope we'll all be there, I told her. I want to help you get dressed and make sure everything is just as you dream it.

Then she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep -- and dream.