Memory of a wedding

An afternoon spent playing with cousins burning off energy.

A request for a detour before the hour and fifteen minute ride home.

“Can we see where you and daddy got married?”

With a blanket of snow covering the ground I am in no rush to head back to Columbus, so we park the car and head into Weaver Chapel.

The name does not do the chapel justice as the massive cathedral looms large over the University where their dad and I met, fell in love and started our lives on a November day in 1999.


“You walked this whole thing Momma and Daddy stood at the end?”.


I told them of the day and memories now 15 years old.

We giggled thinking about Daddy with a full head of hair and Momma in a big poofy dress.


We held hands and talked about what it was like to walk down that long, long aisle with all of those eyes upon you.


And as we left Audrey paused, “Momma thank you for taking us here. It was so cool to see where you and daddy got married.”


It hits me like a crushing wave the importance of this moment.

The marriage did not endure, but it does not mean the precious moments of that union should not be celebrated and recounted for these girls.

It would be all too easy for he and I to brush those pieces of our lives aside and march forward with quiet determination to do things better the next time.

But these girls were born out of love.

And to walk away from these memories is to deny them the foundation of their lives.

So together we will relive these moments.

We will smile.

We will laugh.

We will celebrate a union that resulted in the three most precious gifts one could ever hope for.


“Momma what does metamorphosis mean?” she asks me.

Head buried in her book.

My eyes trained on the road in front of me.

“It means to change or grow in a dramatic fashion, like the butterfly from its cocoon” I tell her.

I try to explain more but she interrupts.

“Okay Momma I got it. Don’t need anymore”.

Just like that the moment is lost but I can’t stop thinking about her question.

I want to tell her that she on the cusp of adolescence is the definition of the word.

I watch her everyday moving away from those things that defined her as a little girl and marching straight forward into a new world.

No more dolls or dress up clothes. Cartoons are a thing of the past.

She spends her days reading her vet books and talking about the horses she loves.

Long gone are coloring books and cardboard boxes made into playhouses.

She facetimes with her friends and does homework on a computer.

Once upon a time she would crawl into my bed each night, nestle in close and tell me she was afraid of the noises outside her window.

Now she sleeps in until 9 and remarks about those noises inside of the house that keep her from more hours of slumber.

Desperately I want to press the pause button.

Hold on to these days where she still longs for my voice to be the last she hears before she falls asleep, where I can ease her worries by simply telling her “momma will handle it”.

These years of parenting, I am finding are some of the hardest. Not physically hard like the years of changing diapers and little sleep, when your body belonged to your child. No these years are mentally trying as your head encourages you to give them wings but your heart wants nothing more than to keep them in your arms.

I cried yesterday when she brought home a form for me to sign.

Right there in front of her I cried over a piece of paper. It requested her full name for inclusion on the 5th grade tile that would be placed in the entryway of her elementary school to remember the graduating class.

She laughed hysterically at my tears and then excused herself to use the bathroom.

She emerged a few moments later, the remnants of tears on her cheeks as well.

Maybe she’s not in such a hurry.