I was standing in my bedroom at my parents’ house, looking at myself in the full-length mirror. “I was smaller than you?” It was more of a statement than a question. Yet, Mom wanted an answer from me. I was wearing her wedding dress, and she was standing beside me, smiling at me as I stared at myself in the mirror. The dress was made of a simple white cloth with sleeves that came to my elbows, a ruffle at the end. The dress came to the floor. My armpits were tight with fabric, and when I put my arms down, the fabric bunched up. “Well, I can’t believe I was smaller than you. Now look at me.” Mom was wearing the light green lacey dress that her own mom had worn in 1967, as mom walked down the aisle. “I also can’t believe I am big enough to wear the dress my mom wore to my wedding.” She gave a slight chuckle.
Mom took me to some wedding dress outlets, and we found a pretty brocade dress for three hundred dollars. She made my veil. My favorite color, blue, became the color for our wedding accents. I picked out a navy blue brocade fabric, and Mom made the bridesmaid dresses for the five women who would soon stand at the altar with me as my bridesmaids.
I was the first of my friends to get married. The whole experience was new to me. The only wedding I could remember attending was my uncle’s wedding when I was eight years old. I had a special dress because I was the flower girl. At eight years old, I felt like a princess. But now I was the bride. We made plans for all of the traditional elements of a catholic wedding. I simply followed what Mom guided me to do. There was the decision of the flowers, the reception venue, the food…I bought some issues of Modern Bride magazine to help with ideas for planning this event.
Tim lived a few blocks away from St. Cecilia’s Cathedral in Omaha. We planned to have the wedding there and began having meetings with the parish priest to prepare us. Everything seemed so matter-of-fact. Make decisions. Plan a fun party. Follow protocol.
The wedding day felt like a dream. I wanted each moment to last longer, but the moments kept passing. Tim’s little nephew Mitchell, the ring-bearer, refused to walk down the aisle with my niece Sarah, the flower girl. His mom, Denise, pleaded with him at the back of the church. The cathedral was so huge we barely filled the pews in the front of the church. That didn’t matter. My dad walked me down the never-ending aisle, and Tim put his arm out to me in front of the altar. I was in a dream. Everyone I loved, friends and family, was in that church, watching us promise to spend the rest of our lives together. “I do.” “I do.” We vowed to love each other forever. Til death do us part. As we walked back down the aisle, hand in hand, we were no longer two but one. As we walked out the church doors, a rainstorm of rice landed on our heads, and we laughed as we took each step down to the sidewalk below. After the ceremony, the wedding party took us to the Old Market, and we had a few drinks at Billy Frogs, just our little group. We then joined our friends and family at Erin Court for dinner and dancing. We did everything that was traditional, including throwing the bouquet and the garter.
Our DJ was a friend of a friend. And he was fabulous. He played all of the music we requested and had the whole place on their feet. He was a comedian, bringing our friends and family into the party, and joining us in the fun. It felt like our day had just started, and all of a sudden, it was time to draw it to a close. We spent the night together at our new apartment, falling into the bed in exhaustion. Our bags were packed. We were ready to leave the next morning on a plan to Florida where we would board a ship to the Bahamas for our honeymoon.
