My Son, The Ringbearer

The Village Wedding

My Dad called for my son’s eighth birthday. “I have his picture next to my bed,” he said. Every time I look at him, I think about him at Joanna’s wedding. I remember how he cried about the bubbles. That was great.”

“You know he wasn’t really crying about the bubbles, right Dad? He was just overwhelmed at everything at the moment.”

Really I think he was crying in reaction to seeing his grandfather in a wheelchair, but I didn’t say so.

I didn’t write much upon my return from the wedding because there was such a whirlwind of many mini-stories playing over in my mind. My Dad’s statement reminded me of one small part of the wedding worth dwelling on, if only because it will probably be one of those moments that are frozen into my son’s mind forever.

Going to a wedding is a far different experience than being in one. All the family dynamics come to play at a crescendo, for better or for worse (usually both). The adults are all caught up in their own personal dramas. I think we sometimes forget how it all must seem to a child.

In our case, we were traveling from New York to Tennessee and meeting the groom’s family for the first time at the wedding rehearsal. We arrived at 2:00 in the morning, the day of the rehearsal dinner. The children got their energies out at the pool, getting sunburned in the process, before the big pre-nuptial event. They did great, carrying out their instructions, and were made to feel welcome by all.

When my son came up the aisle, I replayed the memory, side by side with the present, of my little brother, at the age of 4, coming up the aisle with the ring for my own wedding. We had sewn the ring into the pillow so it wouldn’t get lost. When the best man tried to take it off, he had a nervous moment trying to get it detached!

Then my little sister came up the aisle, preceded by my two older daughters, and again I had a flashback to my own wedding, when she, at the age of 8, sweetly walked up the aisle in a lavender dress with a small bouquet. Not on purpose, I too was wearing a lavender dress at her rehearsal, and all these memories flooded back to me as she walked up the aisle. I couldn’t stop the tears from trickling down my face. When we were all together at the altar, the minister looked at my red nose and said, “I just love sisters.”

The next day was the wedding. We were all up early. The children showered and dressed, and we ladies and the children all traveled together, while my husband cared for our toddler. When we arrived, a hostess was ready to take my son over to the house where the groomsmen were getting ready. I insisted that I would take him myself. The poor little guy was in the company of a great many big guys. Fortunately, he knew both the groom and my brother. I gave my brother the charge of him and ran off to join the ladies.

Right before the wedding, my Dad came into the church, in his wheelchair. His health had been worrisome as of late, as he suffers from multiple sclerosis, and none of us were sure if he would be able to make it. I hadn’t seen him in five years. He was very thin and frail. I had tried to prepare my children for his appearance, but even I am never quite able to deal with the change that time brings upon him in my absence.

My sister came into the entryway and cried a little at seeing him. She was really happy that he had been able to make it.

The wedding went smoothly, beautifully, almost surreally (for me) and I was able to keep myself in control emotionally. The kids did a terrific job preparing the way for the beautiful bride.

At the end, we all came outside and waited for the couple to come out. Bridesmaids handed out bubbles to be blown for the pictures. The couple entered their vehicle and did a fake exit, driving around to the rear of the church for more pictures to be taken inside. I found my children and discovered that my son was quite upset. “I didn’t get any bubbles!” he said, his lower lip trembling.

“How could this have happened!” I exclaimed.

A bridesmaid came up to me, prodding me to come inside for the pictures. “I’ll be in in a minute, I said,” grabbing some bubbles from the basket that dangled from her arm.

Then my Dad rolled up to us. “This is your Grandpa,” I said to my son. And he burst into tears.

“What’s wrong?” asked my Dad.

“He didn’t get any bubbles,” I tried to explain.

I received another reminder that they were waiting for us inside. I’m afraid I might have glared at the messenger. Here was a moment that my son might never forget, and I wasn’t going to rush through it until he was okay with everything.

My husband found us, and brought me my toddler, who also was very upset at having been separated from her mama. Her comparative outrage did some good in settling my son. Finally, we all went inside, and all went fairly smoothly from there.

It may seem puzzling why this might be a positive memory for my Dad. On a happy day, why would one want to remember the tears that occurred for ten minutes of it?

“He was just being a boy,” says my Dad.

And I think that’s it. Boys keep it real. If they are in a mood, they pout. If they are happy, they smile from ear to ear. You never see a little boy with a fake smile on his face, and they are usually not able to stifle their giggles.

In the middle of a smiling crowd, where some adults might be smiling to hide personal sadness, or to be polite and sociable, he was able to express his true emotion. Later, he would be running around by the lake, laughing and dancing. Whatever his actions, they were true.

So when my Dad sees his school picture sitting on his side table, with the same smile that my little brother has always had, he can see it all: the tears, the laughter, the genuine boy-ness. That still shot, combined with the living memories, will sustain him until our next visit.

How to Fold Laundry Without Touching It

Two weekends ago, my husband and I spent a full ten hours without our children, leaving them home with someone we trusted their lives with while going to a wedding.

I got myself all dolled up, which I only do once in a blue moon. Of course, once I had my nail polish on I realized I had a load of laundry ready in the drier to be folded. They had been drying for about ten minutes, but I was not yet confident in their holding power.

Gingerly, I opened the drier with my shoe, then used my elbows to get the clothing out. Then, using the flat edges of my fingers, I carefully folded the laundry without fully touching any with my nails.

As we were getting ready to leave, I could hear the baby on the monitor, talking to herself as she always does when she wakes from a nap. Should I say goodbye? I decided that her pre-nap nursing had been enough of a goodbye. I would just upset her further by saying hello and then leaving.

The wedding was at St. Rose of Lima in Massapequa, where we had married fifteen years ago. Just being there together was a blessing for us. So were the little-known scripture from Tobit, a beautifully sung “El Shaddai” and “Ave Maria”, and a poem about hands used at the end. My husband was so thankful that it was a nuptial Mass. Someone was keeping careful time – I heard someone murmur that it was a full hour and fifteen minutes. What did that matter? Most people skipped the Mass and headed directly for the reception.

In the middle of the reception, I found that I had sat in something black and sticky. I tried to get it off, unsuccessfully, leaving a large water spot on my long, silky lavender dress. Thankfully for me, the reception place was so dark that no one seemed to notice.

During cocktail hour, we found a table on a lovely outdoor Spanish-like patio and loaded our plates with shrimp, lobster, and mussels. Once ushered into the ballroom, there was a full half hour in which Kevin and I were able to dance to old school traditional wedding music. Later it would turn into a techo-garble disco, around 11:30 as we were ready to leave anyway.

We arrived home just a little after midnight, just after I lost my glass slipper and my coach turned into a pumpkin.

Painting: The Marriage Feast at Cana, Jan Steen, 1655/70
For Biblical Story see John 2:1-12

The Resume of My Married Life

Last night Kevin and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary. When I think of all the major life changes we have been through in such a relatively short time, it is amazing. I have touched on some of these lightly and expounded on others throughout my blog entries. Here is a short resume of what we have accomplished together…

1993-1995
I finished my Masters’ Degree.

1995-1996
We moved to North Carolina for a year.
We moved back to Long Island.

1996-1997
I worked as a teacher for a year.

1997
We bought our first house (and quite possibly our last).
We had our first baby.

1998
We had our second baby.

2001
We had our third baby.
We started homeschooling.

2006
We had our fourth baby.
We enrolled our children in Catholic school.

The different periods of our lives seem to be defined by these life-altering events of births, moves, and schooling and career moments. I look at the above list and I think, “What happened between 1998 and 2001, between 2001 and 2006, between 2006 and 2008?”

Indeed, if I was handing a job resume to a prospective employer, that is the first question he or she would ask.

As someone recently said so poignantly, “You couldn’t possibly write about every single thing that happens to you in the course of a day.” Indeed, many days I cannot make it to the computer to write about all the things that have happened in that time. And when I do, I must leave out so much because otherwise I would be writing non-stop. (Possibly a seemingly noble goal for a writer, but only truly feasible for such writers as Dostoyevsky who composed his masterpieces while sitting in a Russian prison for many years.)

Those years are composed of hundreds of days, which in turn are comprised of thousands of minor moments which truly define our lives. And those moments are so important that our Creator keeps count of every one of them. I look at the blank years of our resume and remind myself that every thing I do, every thing I think, every thing I say has an effect on the building of our lives together.

“But do not ignore this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years and a thousand years like one day.”
2 Peter 3:8

Painting above: The Sundial Garden by Simon Burtall

Fifty-Seven Happy Years Together

Happy 57th Wedding Anniversary to my “Nanna and Poppop”, Mr. And Mrs. John S. Nagy! Dale is a registered nurse and John is a retired detective of the New York City Police Department. Nanna and Poppop enjoy golfing, dancing, bicycling, and spending time with their grandchildren.

“Set me as a seal on your heart,
As a seal on your arm;
For stern as death is love,
Relentless as the nether world is devotion;
Its flames are a blazing fire.
Deep waters cannot quench love,
Nor floods sweep it away.
Were one to offer all he owns to purchase love,
He would be roundly mocked.”
Song of Songs 8:6-7

Picture of Mr. and Mrs. John S. Nagy at picnic, October 2006

KISS (Keep it Simple, Stupid!) : Love One Another

Today is my fourteenth wedding anniversary. Last week, my sister, was engaged. Oh, I am so happy for her! I wish we weren’t geographically so far apart. Then I could fling my arms around her and wish her the same happiness that I have known. Follow St. Paul’s advice and you can’t go wrong. Love one another, honor God’s commandments, and you will have a beautiful marriage.

See Joanna's beautiful engagement story at her blog: http://part-of-something.blogspot.com/