[I'm not sure where this came from for such a beautiful topic as "wedding" from Sunday Scribblings this week. But it came to me today as I was running from soccer to dance and back again. I came old to this motherhood gig. I'm pretty sure I'll miss out on a lot of my kids' lives. So, tissue in hand, I offer you this.]
He is old enough to have long let go of any resentment for being usurped as the only son. Although he has a couple of buddies from college with whom he's remained close, he really didn't have to spend any time deciding who his best man would be. When he told his "little" brother he was going to pop the question, his brother's reaction was one of genuine love and encouragement and excitement. Of course he'd take on the task. With gusto, like he takes on everything.
Since he was marrying one of his sister's best friends, no discussion was needed when it came to Amy having his sister as a bridesmaid. Even if the groom had been someone else, his sister would be in the wedding party. He and his sister had grown closer over the years, particularly over the last two that he and Amy had been dating. Their relationship had evolved from middle school and high school years in different orbits. Now, they were just two friends, albeit brother and sister.
Before the rehearsal dinner, the three siblings took their dad on an outing of their own, driving to their hometown to see the home they grew up in, the high school they all attended, their childhood church (and one his sister still attended...religiously) and, of course, their mother's grave. She'd been dead more than five years. He took some small comfort in knowing that she had at least known Amy, that he was marrying someone his mother had known. The fact that she had died a few years before he and Amy had started dating was something he chose to gloss over.
The wedding went off without a hitch, of course, not that he'd had much to do with it. Really, weddings fall under the bride-to-be's domain, so he just pretty much performed as he was told. He thought of his mother when he had that thought. She'd have expected nothing less.
Seeing his sister melancholy amid all the festivities, he approached her to ease her thoughts. He knew what she thinking, what they were all thinking. Someone was missing. Someone would always be missing. "But she'll always be here," he told his sister, touching her on her head. And, then, pointing to her heart, "And she'll always be here."