From a Mother’s Heart
Silhouetted against the light behind them, she stands with one arm entwined with her father’s. The other holds her bridal bouquet.
The lane in front of them is shaded by trees on either side.
It’s autumn here in Vermont, and the colors are beginning to change. In the last few days, the trees have gone from green to orange with hints of scarlet, soft against the cloudy sky.
The colors are different here.
Life is different here.
Photo by Lindsey Dietrich
In Colorado, the aspen give autumn its glory—intense yellow gold against the bright blue sky. Here, on this overcast day, the colors feel muted, as though they are receding into the background.
Rain is forecast for today, and I whisper another prayer. It joins the thousands of others I have breathed in preparation for this day.
The music starts—a song I recognize from a playlist she made for me not long after the first phone call. The call that lasted for two hours as she talked nonstop about this guy from work. I’d tried to keep painting as we talked. After about an hour, I realized the significance of the call, and set my brush aside so I could really listen.
The line of couples files past, the men carefully extending their arms to escort the women she has chosen to stand with her. Our other daughter, our sons, and their spouses will stand with her and her groom, each understanding the commitment being spoken here today, each beaming with happiness for their little sister. I remember their weddings, how unique and beautiful they were, how similar and yet how different from this, just as they are different from her. I think of our children, their spouses and children, the way each one adds a unique tone to the array that our family comprises now—as beautiful as the array of autumn colors in the women’s gowns.
The flower girl, one of my granddaughters, starts down the lane toward us, and a different image flashes in my memory. Our daughter is four years old in this one, dressed in a full skirted peach gown, her blond hair in a French braid down her back. Her expression is serious as she carefully drops petals from her basket to line the path of the bride who follows.
So many years, so many images.
The music changes, and she and her father step forward. From the expression on his face, I know his heart, too, is brimming.
She walks beside him, radiating happiness even as she fights the same tears he does. A strong, determined, independent, and beautiful woman, there is no hesitation in her step. Her dress is a perfect expression of who she is. Its slim silhouette embodies all the timelessness of the stories she loves, the arm bands adding the sass we all think of when we think of her.
Time pauses as her father leaves her standing next to her groom, and the two of them look at each other. His eyes are dark and soft as nightfall in the forest, hers bright and shining.
Photo by Danielle Rivard
As rich as the red roses in the bouquets, as deep as the plum-colored blossoms, the words they say to each other are beautiful, and meaningful, and true to the love they’ve found together. They offer testaments of dedication to building a strong and lasting relationship together. The sacrifices, the trust, the support for each other and their hopes for the future are all there, brightened with sprigs of lightheartedness.
It’s so hard to capture in a promise all the emotion and devotion meant to last a lifetime. Meant to serve as the foundation they will build their lives on. Not offered lightly, the words cannot be taken lightly. They are deep calling to deep, and they sink into my mother’s heart, taking root.
But there are no words significant enough, with resonance deep enough to capture the magnitude of what I feel as her mother.
They all seem too brief, too bright, too blasé, as though they belong on a greeting card with a bit of gold and glitter.
They cannot hold the echo of a baby’s cry, the patter of tiny feet running across the floor, a little girl’s giggle at the table. The wails of disappointment and desolation of middle school. The shouted fears of a teen, the yearning ambition in a young woman’s voice.
Her life will be different here.
Photo By Danielle Rivard Photography
The clouds part, and a soft light falls over the people gathered with us. Grandmother, uncles, aunts, and cousins. Childhood friends, family friends. True friends.
Gratitude swells, soothing the echoes with the recognition and conviction that this moment is the answer to all those whispered prayers.
The pang in my heart stretches, embracing this new member of our family.
And in the breeze that stirs the autumn leaves, I hear the eternal echo of the joyful song from another mother’s heart.
Flowers by Vermont Country Flowers
