Believing the Lies

I attended a wedding this past Saturday. The groom stood up front with the bridesmaids, groomsmen, and the minister behind him. Everyone stood and watched the bride walk down the aisle towards him. She was stunning, beautiful. She held her father's arm with one hand and a bouquet of white in the other. His eyes never wavered from her face, only blinked in an effort to clear their tears.There were over two hundred people in that room, all of them watching the bride - except me. You see, I was the mother of the groom.

A few months ago, I was the mother of the bride - a much more prestigious position. As mother of the bride, I helped plan the party. I had input. I had a voice. The ceremony and the reception were on my home turf. All of my family and most beloved friends came to celebrate with us. I had the time of my life that day. It was all about my beautiful, wonderful, amazing "little" girl, and I loved lavishing her with the attention.

But here's the thing - my husband gave our daughter away. At least, that's what it's called. We see our daughter and son-in-law much more than his parents do. We gave her to him, yet we didn't really give her away at all. We gained a son. The father of the bride this past weekend gave his daughter to our son, but they aren't really losing their daughter, they're gaining our son.

This is where it gets hard. As if all the years that we poured into raising him - all the tears, all the frustrations, all the earaches, and sinus infections, and bad dreams, and emergency room visits, all the soccer games, and band concerts, all the meetings with teachers, all the homework done together - are wrapped up in him now as a gift and given to them. As if I can give him away and ignore the grip he holds on my heart that all the years and all the miles cannot break.