Ariel's Wedding, Part XV, On With the Wedding!

(Some photos in this post courtesy of M. Price, D. Price, and T.J. Mahlon)


T minus five minutes and counting...

Ariel had requested that both Fred and I walk her down the aisle. A very sweet and thoughtful gesture. However, I had a problem with the logistics of it all. We would emerge from the French doors in the dining room, step onto the deck, and walk down the stairs. But those stairs weren't wide enough for all three of us. And who would close the door behind her train? And I don't go DOWN well at all. UP steps, UP slopes, I'm fine, if a bit winded sometimes. But DOWN is a different matter entirely, since I had knee surgery two years ago. DOWN is very painful and awkward. And now, not only did I have to contend with that knee, but also my swollen feet and ankles and my swollen and bruised broken toe. Not to mention that being on my feet for three days solid had flared up my sacroiliitis, and my hip was sending distress signals to the nerve center of my brain.

"Here's what we'll do," I'd told Ariel. "I'll go out the front door, around the side of the house, and wait for you and Daddy to come out. While you start down the stairs, Daddy can shut the door behind you, and we'll all meet on the aisle runner."

Believe it or not, I anguished over that simple plan for almost a week.

Obsessive? Who, me?

Where in the world was my Prozac?

I gave my daughter one last hug and kiss and beat a hasty retreat as tears flooded my eyes. Out the front door, through the little tunnel formed by the low overhanging branches of the tall Bradford Pears on the side of the house. It was cool and quiet and utterly peaceful in that tunnel. I vowed that I would find time in the next couple of days to come back to this spot and just breathe in the cool refreshing air. When I emerged on the other side, Belle was just stepping out of the door. I gave her a nod, and she came down the steps and began her walk down the aisle. A look of momentary panic struck her face as she began sliding in her new tall heels, but she quickly recovered and walked gracefully down the aisle, her long purple skirt shimmering in the sunlight. The Pianist began playing Hallelujah, the song Ariel had chosen in lieu of the Wedding March, and then Ariel stepped out. Holding her skirt up slightly with one hand, she descended the steps. Oh! My heart swelled with pride at her grace and beauty. My daughter was everything I had ever hoped she'd be, and I wanted to savor this moment, to freeze time and marvel at the spectacular vision that was coming toward me. Tears welled up again, and then Fred was beside us. He took her arm into the crook of his own and we began our stroll toward the smiling throng of family and friends under the old sycamores.

Now, I'd like to tell y'all here that my memory of our walk down the aisle is obscured by a haze of tears and a jumble of images of my baby through the years; that I floated on air, that the ground beneath my feet was a soft cloud, that we three moved in exquisite harmony and ecstasy of the moment. But, sadly, I cannot tell you that. No, with the very first step, my knee and hip protested going down the slight slope of the yard. My toe throbbed and the big red nodule on the side of my right foot pressed against the unfamiliar prison that was my good black dress shoe. My knee threatened to buckle, and the next hundred or so steps were agony. I limped, I waddled. I looked down at the ground in order to focus on each step. Pain consumed my mind. But we made it, and the next thing I knew, Fred was being asked, "Who presents this woman?"

This woman. Yes, she was a woman, and we must let her live her own life. I sat and watched the ceremony through misty eyes.

Everything was perfect. The skies were bright and sunny. The temperature was an unbelievable 82 degrees. The flowers had recovered so beautifully from the deer nibbling, and were full and vibrant. Eric stood tall and handsome in his black tuxedo, and neither of their voices faltered as they took their vows. Ariel's dress was brilliantly white in the sunlight, her red hair bright underneath the softly billowing veil, and...what was that? Wha...? A lightning bug was crawling up her dress. I saw it. Eric saw it. Belle saw it. When we conferred afterwards, we all expressed our desire to step forward and brush it off, but we controlled ourselves and let it crawl. It crawled into her veil and back down again. She eventually found it...during the reception.

We had forgotten to light the tiki torches. I also realized we had forgotten to trim the end of the aisle runner. Oops. Just a couple of small boo-boos.

I teared up once more, for only a moment or two. The emotional impact of my daughter standing before me, reciting the age old wedding vows, combined with the perfect beauty of the day, the pain in my foot and knee, and my sheer exhaustion suddenly hit me hard. I heard words, but didn't comprehend. My daughter was getting married.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the officiant was saying. It was done. Eric bent down for the kiss, then they turned to face us, all smiles, and began walking back toward the house. The officiant told the crowd that they were welcome to move on to the reception in Clarksville, where hors d'oerves and drinks were awaiting. But people lingered. The unusually comfortable temperature and sunshine were welcoming, and guests chatted and laughed while the photographers got the family and wedding party together for photos.

Cali and Ashley, from Once Like a Spark Photography, were fantastic. They were professional, friendly, and unobtrusive, yet took hundreds of photos. I heard the slight click, click, clicks, of their camera throughout the ceremony. We invited them to the reception as guests, under absolutely no obligation to take more pictures, but they had another wedding in the area, and left after the formal shots. I haven't even seen the pictures yet, but I know I wouldn't hesitate to hire them again, based simply on their lovely personalities.

Fred hurriedly got the musical equipment back into the basement, while I went back into the house, turning off lights, and gathering the few things that had to go with us to the reception. People were still slathering strawberry butter on rolls. "Oh, oh my God," a male voice said. "These are the best things I've ever eaten." "They're a little cool now," I told the voice. "Put it in the microwave for about ten seconds." "You mean they get BETTER?" the voice said in amazement.

Belle went with Ariel into her old bedroom and bustled the wedding gown, for ease of walking and dancing. The guests slowly left, some going to the reception and some back to their hotel, where Ariel and Eric had a cab hired for the evening. Belle rode with Fred and me to the Cumberland Room, Fred keeping up a constant chatter with Belle in the backseat. I closed my eyes, savoring these relaxing minutes and reliving the wedding in flashes of color and sunshine: Ariel's smile, the sparkle of crystals on the white gown, a glimpse of bright red ballet shoe peeking from under the gown. I leaned back in the comfy cushion of my car seat and smiled, quite satisfied.