On the Night Before His Wedding
My only son is getting married tomorrow…
I have a bet going with the bride and the groom, my only boy, that I will not cry on their wedding day, and tonight she slipped me a surprise gift. A ring holder that thanked me for raising her husband to be an incredible man. A man she loves so much. A man who has left me for her. And I cried as I read the verses, and she smiled at me, knowing tomorrow will be a day for tears.
I’ve been the mother-of-the-bride twice, and now my youngest is marrying. I was so thrilled when he found ‘the one’, and they set the date almost a year ago.
My family has gathered from from our homes all over the U.S. to be here in beautiful, rugged Minnesota to celebrate this wedding! Seeing my son’s best friends stay in a cabin with him made my heart stop. They all looked like men, and I wondered where those 8th graders went. Where did the boys who spent their weekends at our house go?
They hugged me hello, and I watched as Hope smiled at them, realizing she was getting to know the guys my son has done life with since 7th grade. They are on their own, but I was privileged to watch them on their journey, as dicey as it seemed at times.
When the decided to hotbox right in front of the police station I wondered if they had any brains at all, though as I walked in to admonish them for smoking weed, the very thing I did when I was only 13, and here they were, all 16, I had to make my smile vanish. I honestly didn’t think it was too terrible, but I acted like the mom I was and told them how very disappointed I felt. Ian* had tears running down his cheeks, and I. felt. awful.
Jon* is sporting a mustache these days, though I’ve begged him to shave it off. I’m really not into facial hair. So when his fiancée said he should keep it, because she likes it, guess who won? She did. And I realized I’m not the number one woman in his life anymore; I’ve been replaced. And it hurt more than I care to admit.
All the groomsman are shaving their various beards and scruffiness, so they will all have mustaches tomorrow for the wedding. They know about me and about Hope, and I like how cheeky they are. Why not turn that whole mustache thing into a joke, since I said it’s more classic to have no facial hair. I suppose I pictured those 1970s beards, when all I’ve managed to do is encourage seven men to have just a mustache. In all the wedding pics.
I have wanted Jon to find a wonderful woman to share life with, and I’ve prayed for her since my son was a baby. I like her so very much. I know once they marry my heart will be free to love her. She will become the next Mrs. Eppers. I like that.
I didn’t know how much Mrs. Eppers, my husband’s mom, hurt the day we married. Oh, Macy was happy for him and us, but she told me when I walked down the aisle to my waiting groom, she didn’t look at me. She wanted to see her only son’s face as his bride made her way toward him, and she told me that he teared up. Macy said she knew then that all would be right in our marriage. Macy has four daughters, but only one boy.
I understand the duality now. It was never a slight to me.
Who will I watch tomorrow as Hope walks down that long aisle toward my boy? I think I’ll be looking at them both, honestly. I feel so excited when families come together for weddings, and that joy, that sense of solemnity followed by relief and expansive happiness is here.
But tonight in the hotel room while I helped coax my granddaughter to sleep in her momma’s arms, my daughter’s arms; I told her these trying, vexing days of toddlerhood flash past in a blur. As tired as she and her husband are with two little ones, I whispered to my girl that one day she’ll miss this. Her little 18 month old needs her to ease her overexcited mind and body toward sleep and rest, but it won’t always be so.
As I explained this, my face grew wet with tears freely sliding down my cheeks in the darkened room. My daughter looked up in surprise as I explained my feeling of loss. As happy as I am for Hope and Jon to marry, my arms still miss holding that little boy. Being a grandmother is great, but they aren’t your own.
I’m ready for another Mrs. Eppers to join the world. Let’s do this!
I’ll probably cry tomorrow, but I’ll let you know. Half of me is hoping to win the bet, but not at the cost of stoicism. I want to feel the changing of the guard.
*Names have been changed. Except mine.
