The Wedding Dance
he hand that clasps mine is not that of the child I can still remember, but that
of the man he has become. From that hand to his face to the smile he beams at me, he is his father
in days gone by. We move gracefully across the floor as his young bride looks on. My new
daughter. Oh, how the years have passed! It seems I didn't even notice. One day, I held a
squalling infant in my exhausted arms and counted tiny pink fingers and toes. The next, I'm no
longer the most important woman in his life.
An effortless spin and he's taking me across the floor with a flare like his father's. I wonder if he's looking down on us at this moment as my son's eyes sparkle with his mischief. Suddenly, I'm bent backward and laughing like a girl half my age, my young rogue leaning over me and guests applauding. He kisses my cheek and spins me upright again. The regretful tears of the past threaten my eyes.
No, they are not regretful tears. I have no regrets where this boy - this man - is concerned. He has been, and always will be, my pure joy. Time cannot wipe away the sadness and heartache, but there was never regret. Heartache comes with having children as it does with being alive. If my son is all he wants to be, I have no regrets. And if his grins and laughter are anything to judge his life's choice by, regret is absent today.
As the music slows, his mood seems to waver. Knowing that if I see any of what I'm feeling in his eyes I will surely cry, I move into his arms and rest my head on his strong shoulder. A hush has descended on the entire room; not even the babies are fussing. The gentle piano guides us around the floor, passed faces that have always been near, and new ones destined for the same. Their smiles bring one to my face as I realize this is not a day for tears. The hand against my back gives me a squeeze. It is a most subtle gesture to let me know my new daughter's turn to care for him has come.
It is not a day for tears, but they threaten nonetheless. I sigh and touch his smooth cheek, seeing the face of a baby, child, teen, and man. Is this day so difficult for all mothers? I can't help wondering. As the music switches with ease to the one he chose to dance to with his bride, I turn and find her shy face with my other hand. I can't speak to either, but I know that my heart is in my eyes as each receives my kiss.
Walking to the edge of the floor to sit behind my daughter's little sister, I realize I do have one regret today. I regret that my husband is not here to hold my hand.
I've never seen anyone look so sad and so happy at the same time. She's not crying, but I can tell that she wants to just bawl. She walks by, touching my shoulder like older people always do, and sits down somewhere behind me. What do I call her now? Let's see. My big sister's mother-in-law. Um. Mom? No, I didn't marry her son. Though it would be nice if he had a younger brother. Maybe I just call her by her first name. But what is it?
They're twirling around the dance floor like a prince with his princess. Yes, that's what she looks like. But a Cinderella kind of princess. Not too showy; she was never like that. Lots of that white shiny stuff and loads of lace. If I didn't know better, I'd swear she was wearing glass slippers.
He looks_.dashing in his tux. All perfect and black with his shirt almost as bright white as her dress. The only problem is that silly bow tie. He looks like Gramps. Speaking of Gramps, where is he? He's always so much fun when everyone's together.
Walking away from the crowd of people watching them dance, I spot three of the Old Aunts comparing medications and arguing over who's got more wrong with them. Over by the bar, two of my dumb older cousins are daring each other to steal a bottle of beer. They're such dorks. When I'm sixteen, I hope I'm much more_.mature. I don't think I need to worry - I'm more mature now, three years won't change anything.
I guess it's a mom thing. She's over there leaning on Dad crying her eyes out. Everyone else is happy. Oh, well, maybe those are her happy tears again. Dad just has a sad little smile on his face. He's rubbing Mom's arm with one hand and the other's stuffed in his pocket. It suddenly, hits me that maybe his mom is trying not to cry because her husband isn't here. I wonder if her son's having the same problem. Pausing at the edge again, I wait to see his face as he twirls her around again. Nope, he's smiling. I know I'd be crying my eyes out if Dad died before my wedding. But my wedding's going to be totally perfect.
Continuing on, I see my new brother's aunt sitting behind the crowd, nodding her head to the music with a smile like Dad's on her face. Since she's blind, she's wearing dark sunglasses and has her big Golden Retriever sitting beside her. I can't pass up a chance to pet any dog, so I go over and ask if it's all right. She says sure, so I stoop down to eye level with him. I just love dogs. And I can tell this one is smart, too. He's trying to ignore me like they're supposed to. Then she tells him it's okay and he gives me a huge, slobbery kiss right up the side of my face. Any one of my friends would have squealed like piglets at that, but I just laugh and ruffle his ears. Dogs love that.
Suddenly, I hear a monster snore. No one else seems to notice, but then maybe they're trying to be nice. Saying good-bye to both dog and aunt, I head in the snore's direction. A smile the size of the Grand Canyon splits my face when I see him. Way in the back of the room is Gramps, sprawled in a little folding chair, head back and mouth open. Go for it, Gramps. I can't help giggling as I sneak over.
Of all the kinds of two-leggers, the little ones are the best. Oh, they might pull my hair or my ears sometimes. They might even step on my tail every now and then. But they're usually the most fun. Not that I don't like being around my two-legger. She's not little, but she still plays. She's really good at FETCH. All I have to do to get her to throw something is put it in her lap and rest my chin on her knee. She'll just pick it right up and say FETCH.
Today it's not allowed, though. I tried when she dropped her fork. But she wanted to stick it in her own mouth instead. Today's something special. So many new smells. Things to eat are everywhere, except none of the tables here are nose level so I have to stretch when no one's looking. I know I shouldn't, I'm on duty, but sometimes I just can't help it. I had a little sticky thing a while ago that one of those little two-leggers gave me. He smelled like one big sticky thing himself.
Two-leggers are everywhere. Little ones, big ones, old ones. I can't help wanting to walk through them and say hello. Maybe get a snack or two. At least a pat on the head or an ear scratch. But I'm on duty.
Everything's so loud! The two-leggers haven't stopped laughing since we left that big white place where I couldn't make even one sound and was absolutely forbidden to sit on the little bench. The man with a white dress on had almost not allowed me to come in. Away from that quiet place, these two-leggers are really noisy. I know that when they show their teeth and bark they aren't being angry. Their happiness makes my tail wag.
Looking around, I see something I haven't seen in a long time. Over by the one who smells a lot like my two-legger is that blurry kind of two-legger. No one ever seems to notice them, so I guess they're okay. The last one I saw I barked at, but everyone told me to be quiet. I won't bark at this one. I think it wants to help.
It's been a long time since I sat by my wife's side. The last time was the night after my funeral. She had been so brave all day accepting the condolences of our friends and family. Even when our son broke down and cried, she held herself together and comforted him. I know it was hard for her to watch the child trying to be such a man and losing to his tears. But when everyone was gone, and those staying had gone to bed, I came to her and held her hand while she cried for me.
Finally giving in and leaving her after the accident was the hardest thing I've ever done. They said my body was beyond repair and I couldn't live in it anymore. Even if I had tried, I never would have been able to say her name, hold her close. I knew it would be better to leave. For both of us.
Looking in on her from time to time, I began to see the strong woman that she was come out again and again. She held her own when it came to keeping the family together, raising our son the way we had wanted to, and continuing her own life. Now, I look at her and see the strength yet again.
I know she feels that our son is leaving her alone, like she felt when I was gone. Were I alive, I know it wouldn't be so very hard for her. Or maybe it would be. After all, he is our only baby. Grown now, but a baby still. I can feel her sorrow, her joy, and her pain. It's times like this that make her miss me. She wished I was there for all the most important events in his life. His first license, high school graduation, college. All the big ones and even the little ones. But this one most of all.
Gazing at her, I notice all that is different about her, but what is the same is so much more evident. The light in her eyes, the lift of her smile, the way she clasps her hands in her lap, that's all the same. The years have touched her, yes, but not enough to steal her beauty. She looks just as lovely as the day I met her. More beautiful, perhaps. Our son did that to her.
Glancing at the dance floor, I marvel at the man he has become. I know she sees the same; I could see it on her face when she danced with him. Our baby, married. On that terrible night so long ago, I knew I wouldn't see this day, but here I am. And I need her to know that.
I stand behind her and touch her shoulders. She shivers. I touch her head and she closes her eyes. A tiny smile plays across her lips. You know I'm here, don't you, love?
Her eyes open and I sit beside her, reaching for her hand. One crystal tear slides over her cheek and she sighs. There is a peace about her now. She still yearns for my physical presence, but I know that this is enough until she joins me. I know this from her face, but also from her whisper as the dance ends.
"I knew you'd come."
