My daughter was married this weekend. The wedding was beautiful and unique, as it should have been since it was a year in the making. Every detail was meaningful.
I’ve not seen any photos or video yet so I have the luxury, right now, of putting my own slant on the images in my memory. I see makeup being tossed across a bed in a suite full of bridesmaids all laughing or asking, “Has anybody seen my …” I see Laura, extremely stressed, holding a tissue to her mouth to stop the bleeding from where she bit the inside of her lip. I see Ali putting Laura’s hair up and Lou putting makeup on 10-year-old Franny. I see Jawanda sitting in a chair, taking it all in. I see Laura step into her dress. I see friends at the site and am overwhelmed by how surprised I am even though I knew they were coming. I see Laura crying as pictures are taken before the ceremony. I see wonderful friends so carefully decorating mantels in the parlors of the Terry House Mansion. I see Erni being escorted down the aisle. I see Ben’s face the first time he catches sight of Laura at the end of the aisle. I see 8 beautiful girls strut down the aisle while my brother sings “Dimples.” I see Dan give Laura away. I watch as Laura and Ben recite the Pledge of Fidelity I wrote for my own wedding. I see them kiss and walk under the sabers of an honor guard. I see Laura get smacked in the butt by a saber as she is welcomed to the army and then I see Ben saber a bottle of champagne on the first try. I see Laura dance with her husband and then her father.
The most vivid image in my memory is also the most bittersweet. It took place when we were leaving the hotel for the ceremony. It is of Laura floating across the lobby of the Capital Hotel, employees rushing from the office behind reception and gasping as she passed. I held back and watched as she drifted away from me, toward … home.
