I recently attended a family wedding out of state. It was the first time I had traveled without my husband in three years. It took some planning to be sure he would be cared for while I was gone, but I am happy to report that we both survived.
The wedding was my niece’s—my sister’s younger daughter. My siblings and their families were there, so the weekend was a wonderful opportunity to reminisce about earlier gatherings and celebrations. I stayed in a house with my two children and their families, which made the trip even more enjoyable. There was plenty of family time, conversation, laughter, and the general chaos that comes with having several generations together under one roof.
The wedding itself was held outdoors in Utah, with the Wasatch Mountains rising behind us. The afternoon was cloudy, but the rain held off until we were all leaving. We couldn’t have asked for a prettier setting—or better timing from the weather.
The bride’s sister officiated, and did a wonderful job of telling the bride and groom’s story.
My older granddaughter (“three-and-a-half,” as she proudly proclaims) was the flower girl. Watching her brought back memories of another wedding twenty-six years ago. At that wedding, my nieces—the bride and the officiant—were the flower girls at my brother’s wedding.
Several years ago, I wrote a short essay about that occasion. Here is a portion of that essay, shortened for this post:
My sister’s daughters, Katie, age five [last weekend’s officiant], and Megan, age three [last weekend’s bride] were the flower girls. The girls looked lovely dressed in identical lacy white dresses and white patent shoes, their matching towheads neatly combed.
That was before we left my sister’s house.
The drive to the church took almost an hour through freeway traffic. I was squeezed into the back seat between the girls’ two car seats, with my sister and her husband in front. Three adults to two children seemed like decent odds for managing the journey.
By the time we got to the church, the dry autumn air had turned my nieces’ wispy hair into electric straw. Katie’s sash had pulled loose, and Megan’s white anklets had dropped into her now-scuffed shoes. We took them into the church nursery to repair the damage and waited for the rest of the wedding party to arrive. There were toys in the nursery. The girls had all the games, dolls, and books on the floor within minutes. Megan latched onto a naked baby doll with hair as flyaway as her own.
“Baby doesn’t have any clothes,” Megan said. She found a ratty black crocheted poncho in the toy box and tucked it around the doll. “Now she’s got a blankie!”
We managed to entertain the girls until it was time to line up at the back of the church.
The flower girls walked in side by side.
Katie solemnly scattered her flowers as she had been instructed at the rehearsal.
Megan stomped along, carrying her flower basket in one hand. In the other, she clutched the naked doll, bare bottom up and black poncho trailing behind.
Megan stopped beside her mother in the second pew.
“Go on,” my sister whispered between clenched teeth, pushing Megan on toward the altar with Katie.
But Megan would have none of it. Her lower lip stuck forward in a pout.
Snickers arose from those who witnessed the quiet drama between mother and daughter.
My sister gave up and pulled Megan and the baby doll into the pew beside her.
Katie continued up the aisle by herself.
Last weekend, I watched my granddaughter walk down the aisle as a flower girl in Megan’s wedding. This time, everything went according to plan—or at least there was no naked baby doll wrapped in a black poncho.
My granddaughter dropped her petals, and when she still had some left as she reached the front of the aisle, she turned around and dropped more on her way to the back. Then she made another trip to the front again. She was determined to fulfill her mission.
After the third pass, my daughter stopped her. The bride’s way was adequately paved with petals.
This wedding made me think about how quickly the years pass. The little girls who once needed help with their sashes and socks are now grown women, and one of them is now married. And the next generation has become the flower girl.
I had tears in my eyes as I watched this wedding, filled with memories of weddings past and hope for the brides and grooms of today and tomorrow. There are more nieces who may marry, and someday even my toddler granddaughters may be brides. I pray for the best for all of them.
What memories do you have of family weddings?
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