“A wise daughter [son] maketh a glad mother [father]…” Proverbs 10:1
The Week began with an odd but warm phone call from Jason’s grandparents. I knew immediately that the voice on the other end of the phone had to be a relative of this young man, because of the frank tenderness and courteous demeanor emanating from the phone; “Ms. Pearl Mackinac?”
“Yes, this is she. May I help you?”
“This is Wayne Steptreader, Jason’s grandpa.”
“Why hello. It’s nice to talk to you.”
“Yes, yes. Well, I am calling to tell you what an absolutely wonderful daughter you have and how very happy we are to have shared the past few days with her. We are very excited to get to invite her into our family.”
“Why thank you sir. That is kind. I know she is a blessing. Your grandson has also been a blessing. I know they will both be so happy together.”
The conversation continued a few more moments with Mrs. Steptreader also picking up a line and joining in the praises of their grandson and my daughter. It was a heartwarming conversation that added to the confirmation that these two kids were well-suited and richly blessed. After hanging up the phone, I texted Elli to tell her how very sweet her future grand-parents-in-law seem. She laughed and again repeated, “Mom I just can’t wait to unbox that dress and see what it looks like on me.”
There were those words again. “I can’t wait.” So strange really to think that in just a few days her anticipation would be quenched, and in a bit more than a year the real wait would be over. She would be Mrs. Jason Steptreader.
Saturday morning arrived like any other day. The bitter cold wind of the winter blew fiercely, while I rushed around the house tidying up before Elli’s arrival. When Elli pulled into the driveway, I knew her order of business would be hugs, coffee, then the dress. Sure enough, an hour passed, the coffee and hugs were devoured, and we were off to the bedroom with a box cutter and a camera. The giggles from my girls were funny and uplifting. Elli and Arynn looked at the puffy white satin and the archaic style of the 1980s while they asked how their mother could have worn that “thing”. She slipped the dress over her head and noted the differences in what she expected and what she saw. My breath completely gone and my mind slipped into reverie: Not so much of the dress itself, but of that first time I slipped the gown over my head and looked up into the long mirror in the bridal shop.
Twenty three years earlier, I stood in front of a room full of mirrors. My bony frame encased by this mountain of satin and lace. I stood- stupefied: No words, just a blank, pale stare. A few moments of staring and listening to the voices of my mother and Gwenn (my sister-in-law) and the others in the fitting room (although who the others were escapes me), I suddenly felt weak. Another few moments and I was no longer standing in front of the mirrors. Instead, I was seated on the floor in this room with a bag of M n M’s in my hand and Gwenn speaking to me in what seemed to be a strange language. She asked me over and over again if I knew where I was and how many fingers she was holding up in front of my face. All I remembered saying was, “Too many and too close.” She laughed and backed away then returned her hand to my head with a cold cloth.
The seamstress jabbered about how so many young girls felt weak and dizzy the first time they put their dresses on. It was perfectly normal for this to happen. I wanted to laugh. At no time in my life had events been “perfectly normal”. Why would I assume they would begin being normal now? That day, I looked into a mirror and stared at me. I realized that not only was I scared of being married, but I was petrified that when he got to know the real me- the me I tried so hard to hide- the little girl under the corner built-ins- he would leave, and I would again be alone. There I was looking at this empty girl in the white dress trying to fill a void and not knowing how to do that.
“Maybe we can find a way to change the bodice to where it doesn’t hit right on my hips. Or wait, I know- we could add a different fabric texture to make the dress modern and yet still keep its classic elegance. What do you think mom?” Elli asked.
“Huh- oh- yes. Elli that sounds like it will be perfect for you. I called a seamstress yesterday who wants to meet with you next month. She said to make all the notes and find a few pictures detailing what exactly you want her to do to the dress, and she will be glad to make the changes for you.” My answer was quick, but as I watched her peer at herself in the mirror with her younger sister fussing over the funny sleeves and the hilarious veil, I realized this young woman before me was the model bride. She looked into the mirror and saw her future self- her joint self with this young man who loved her with a depth I had never experienced, because I had never knew that depth of self and never let it be known to others.
Elli smiled in the reflection and asked, “Mom, what are you thinking?”
“Oh Elli, I am just thinking that every day you show me what waiting for peace looks like. You are so wonderful, and you two just make me smile.”
We took some pictures, put the dress on a hanger, and retired to the great room to watch television. She kept that grin on her face for hours, and so did I.
