Sure Light

Summer is often such a fling. Quick, casual, fun encounters with loved ones. And if summer is the calendar’s friendship ring, by August’s end the season has slipped off our fingers and dropped to the bottom of the pond. Onward we go into autumn, ready for more serious engagements.

But not this August. This year we had a wedding.

Last summer around this time, our oldest grandson took the solemn step of proposing, and two weeks ago, after a year of preparation, married his love. I write that line and think, Oh my, such a beguilingly simple statement!

It was a year of joyful anticipation—and a lot of work. As parents of the groom, our daughter and son-in-law hosted a sit-down rehearsal dinner and welcome party for out-of-town guests. My role as grandmother was support staff. I tried to be a good sounding board as plans unfolded and, as a fellow shopper, agonized with everyone over les robes justes.

Honestly, though, my dominant role during the wedding weekend was Ironer.

The wedding was out of town. Our family is big. There were a lot of suitcases wrinkling a lot of clothes, and I love ironing. As the weekend unfolded and all my people strutted around in their impeccably ironed clothes, I sighed and smiled.

I sighed and smiled a lot that weekend. And now, not two weeks later, still tired from it all, I am unwinding as I return to the simpleness of ordinary time.

Despite my weariness, if offered three wishes around the wedding, one would be the chance to relive it anytime I want. I’d like to savor again the wonderful people, the delicious food, the perfect rain-free day and starry night. And I’d dance up a storm again as if there were no tomorrow.

My second wish would be to summon, anytime I want, the sacredness of the ceremony. I would relive the momentary tremulousness that swept over the congregation as the bride and groom turned toward each other. I would hear the gentleness and intelligence that passed between them as they spoke their vows, hear again their jokes. I would again feel the way we guests were drawn together into a place of inward knowing—knowing for sure, if only for a moment, the absolute power of love.

Not surprisingly, I offer my third wedding wish for the bride and groom.

Jim and I will be married 58 years at the end of this month, and, although every couple is different, we know that saying yes to love can be tricky. We often look at each other and blink in amazement at what has unfolded over so many years.

Love is many things. By its nature it is mysterious. And challenging. In my toast to the couple, I mentioned a line from Paul Stookey’s Wedding Song. In the third stanza he asks: Can you believe in something that you’ve never seen before?

If I’ve learned anything, it is that recommitting to love over and over again has slowly grown my capacity for all that love asks. So, my third wish is that they will have the heart and the courage to meet all the ups and downs of their particular adventure. To keep saying yes to the beautiful new that they’ve already begun to create.

The writer Colum McCann suggests that only in writing can we ever stop time. I think I know what he means. Summer will slip from our fingers. And the wedding weekend is fading into ordinary time. But here I am searching for the right words.

To hold for a moment the immense generosity of their parents. To hold the sight of all my people in their freshly ironed clothes. To hear the vows again. To remember that strange hush when a gathering of people seemed to know something unspeakable. 

To hold these precious moments, and my hopes for these two lovely people, up to a very sure light.