Tonight I went to another wedding - not such an unusual event for me this summer. As always, the bride was beautiful and the vows were heartfelt. This time the ceremony was held in an old chapel and the couple was fortunate enough to be blessed with one of the few days of the entire summer that didn't crack ninety degrees. But these nuptials were different for another reason - the bride has been my daughter's best friend since sixth grade. I couldn't help but tear up watching these beautiful young women walk down the aisle. How was it possible? It didn't seem so long ago that I was attending their chorale concerts or chaperoning their senior party. Now, here I was watching one of them get married knowing my own child's turn was just around the corner.
I don't know why any of this should surprise me. My daughter still lives with us. I get daily reminders that she's not that little girl I sometimes fantasize about. I see the size of her shoes (not to mention her bra), I hear (I can't help it, her bed is on the other side of our wall) her late night conversations with members of the opposite sex, and I watch her drive off to a full-time job Monday through Friday. Despite those reminders, I still can't quite wrap my arms around the fact that she's a grown woman capable of making choices and decisions without seeking out her mother's approval.
I can't promise anything but maybe I'll be able to by the time she's the one with the veil.
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