And the groom arrived last night, a fitting development for a wedding. We were all glad to see him. It makes all this planning seem more purposeful. He hasn’t been here since late May and he says this time it feels different. After ten months of back-and-forth airplane romance they’ll be taking flights together from now on. In less than two weeks they’ll have flown off to begin their life in Ontario.
Mother of the bride is happy for them, feeling sorry for herself. The father of the bride cut to the chase this morning. “You know,” he said, “We don’t miss our parents that much when we’re away from them.” He’s right too, and we really love our parents.
His mother left her mother many years ago. She set sail for Canada in 1946 to join the soldier she’d married more than a year earlier. Just think of it! There was no intention to phone her mother, no possibility for email. Tragedies were communicated by telegram. News of daily events was relayed by mail. She did not return to Britain for 18 years. Her children were teen-agers by then.
The mother of this bride has a telephone, and email, and a daughter who has shown herself to be an excellent communicator. There will be visits. She plans to visit that new house in Ontario in early September. She plans to phone. She plans to write. She doesn't see that bride every day now, doesn't even talk to her every day. Things will be fine. But who among us would pass up the chance for a pity party now and then? The sad with the happy. A mixture. That's what it is.
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