Today is my daughter's bridal shower, hosted by a dear friend of mine. It's a day for gratitude and the expression of it. I'm grateful for every participant, who will be making this afternoon special for my daughter. I'm grateful for my daughter, who is so special to me. My friend is making all this possible, and it yokes me to to her more deeply. And there will be several women there who are the age my mother would be, so that makes me feel her presence and the generational nature of this ritual. I trust in the many kind words that will be spoken. One of the activities we're going to do is describe what we know of our parents' wedding day.
I know it was wartime. I know my parents met when my mother was 15 and my father nineteen. My dad was cutting bolts of cloth at a pants factory and my mother was a seamstress, working along side her older sister. So they were employees, then friends. My mother lost her beau during the war, as he was a pilot killed in action. My father became an army pilot and was stationed at the border. They fell in love, married, and had me right at the end of the war. In their wedding picture, my dad is in his uniform and my mom in a dark suit with a crisp white blouse. They were poor, but staking their lives that they had a future. Probably all they spent on the wedding was her coursage and the photo. Their marriage spoke hope and future and love against the terror of war. They did what so many did: they chose life.
And now my daughter is choosing life and future and marriage and kids. She is affirming the joy of living, and we are all witnesses to her choice.
No comments:
Post a Comment