Son of the Bride

Things change. People change.

I've had people in both my personal and professional life say to me over the years, "I don't do change." Well, they might as well say "I don't do breathing," or "I don't do bowel movements." Now some people don't do change well, and that's a horse of a different color. My son Evan doesn't do change well. He gets all tied up in knots, throws fits and usually ends of up "not doing bowel movements" just to make a point.

But Evan, like any other human on earth is going to have to sort it out because change happens. Last weekend my mom got remarried. For those of you that don't know, my dad, 2 1/2 years ago, died from a very painful battle with cancer. In the process of that battle my mom (and he at the time) moved halfway across the country to Colorado. After he passed she had the difficult, if not sometimes impossible task, of redesigning a life for herself. In short, she had to invent the most difficult change of her life.

But this little post is not about her. I will leave her to tell her own story. In the lead up to my mom's wedding the question of choice always was, "Are you ok with this? Are you doing alright?" In my usual abrupt style, I tended to throw people off balance with an honest and direct remark that, I have learned, was the opposite of what they were expecting.

"I'm thrilled. This is exactly what she wanted."

"What about you?" they would ask.

"I'm not sure you noticed on the wedding invitation, but my mom getting married isn't about me." I would reply to a confused scowl coming back.

There is no place card at the table for Son of the Bride. There's no slot on the program, no set aside moment for giving a "son's toast." And that is as it should be. A person gets married to begin something new, to change, to set a course yet uncharted. And while everyone carefully selects characters from the past to take with them into their new future (of which Son of the Bride would be an obvious choice) a wedding is not inherently about the past.

A wedding is about that indubitable change. That intake of fresh oxygen and the rush of blood to the cheeks at a bride's first dance.

Carolyn's past is full of many wonderful and important things. Many of which I was a part of. Card parties in Steamboat Rock. Endless Thanksgivings giggling to Grandma's antics at the farm. A long lonely drive from Denver to Iowa to put my dad's body into the ground. Countless Christmas Eve and Easter services sitting in the hard pews of the Baptist Church.

But on November 13, there was no solemn monotone prayer, no linoleum tiles. The days of the past were a distant memory and all that existed was the rosy flush of a bride in her first waltz. On this night there was no hospice, no tears of regret. On this night, all there was was change. And the little Baptist girl from Steamboat Rock danced.