Father of the Bride
I’d forgotten how sentimental the movie “Father of The Bride” is. Together, our staff took a long lunch to watch the film and encourage our colleague Brad Beck, who will be “giving away” his daughter Brianne this weekend.
Somewhere near the middle of the movie a transition took place; I was no longer watching a comedy starring Steve Martin, I was caught up in the memories, remembering, reliving and savoring the season, ceremony and celebration of my two daughter’s weddings.
The movie ended and I swam home to linger in my journals, giving my heart permission to enjoy the life I live and the family encircling me.
I'd like to share a few of my journal entries from the past over the next week on "Daughters, Fathering, Weddings, Grandchildren and Such".
A journal entry from August 12, 2007
It began in tears… of joy. It ended in tears of grief.
Within three hours of landing in Los Angeles I was sitting in an upscale lounge in the Mon Amie Bridal Salon. Meagan, in another room, was putting on the wedding dress she chose for her wedding and hoped I would love at my first viewing. It was interesting, a bit odd and the perfect set up - I’m in a waiting room while, in a separate room, privately, the bride-to-be is dressed while standing on a platform in a room of mirrors, complementary lighting, soft background music and a Mon Amie seamstress/associate present to assist (and insure that absolutely no photos are taken… until you have bought the dress). Readied the associate invites Lori and me into the “viewing” room to see our daughter in The Dress.
All that unfolded is a little foggy. What I do know is that I lost my breath seeing Megs.
I could not speak... not a word.
I circled her wearing a smile and my heart on my sleeve. She asked me 2-3 times, “Dad, do you like it… what do you think?” She knew the answer but had to ask. Initially I could only look her in the eyes and nod approvingly… I felt like I was snorkeling… sucking air and viewing the world through a veil of water, or tears in my case. In a moment the words came, “Honey, you are the most beautiful woman in the world and the dress has nothing to do with it”. And it didn’t. The dress was merely an extension of all the speechless qualities I love about my daughter: alive, passionate, beautiful, feminine and funky, stunning and simple, trendy-unique-different, warm and unpretentious.
I want the aisle I walk her down to be so very, very long.
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