And then,
BLAM!
It's done. Gone. You sort of missed it in a sense but you know it happened because you might have scoped yourself from the intensity of the recoil. The dull throb in your shoulder is what lets you know that it happened.
So my sister got married and I'm not implying it was a shotgun wedding, but somehow I can't seem to shake that from the analogy I just created. My bad.
Let me explain. It was a BIG event. I tell people back in Kalamazoo about it and mention that there were five hundred guests at the reception and they wig out. How wicked is that? Over half your town shows up???
They do. And they party.
It's just how farmers do.
As far as siblings go, I would say that Rita and I are the furthest from each other on the personality spectrum. Where she is loud and strong, I'm quiet and reserved. Where she asserts herself, I am more of a push-over. Where she demands those around her have a good time, I prefer to be alone. We argue about politics, agricultural practices, hygiene choices, the list goes on. You know, just regular sister stuff.
 |
| I wouldn't trade her for the world. |
In a way though, that's what marriages are, aren't they? Marriages are sort of like giving up someone you love into the hands of someone you know they love. In an exchange of sorts, I'm trading out a sister for a new brother.
A mother gets a new son (and vice verse whether he likes it or not)
And new families start
Where others just keep expanding
Though the best union we celebrated was a wife getting a new husband.
Going into the reception, there was a moment where I could only watch and experience the happiness that someone can feel on their wedding day. The bridal party was about to make their entrance into the reception and Rita needed to use the restroom. She grabbed my arm and announced, "You're doing your bridesmaid duties and helping me pee. Let's go!" (See what I mean about that assertive thing?)
And off we rushed into the unisex bathroom where I stood guard lest some wandering passerby catch a glimpse of her. Wedding dresses, I found, are much too large to allow a standard bathroom stall door to swing shut without suffocating the occupant in tulle and lace. As I unrolled some toilet paper for my semi-incapacitated sister, she just sort of looked at me and said, "This is the happiest day of my life."
Unprompted and in the most unusual moment, she was radiating so much joy I couldn't help but know she was speaking the Truth. Even balancing one hundred pounds of wedding dress and hairspray over a toilet bowl she was one of the happiest people in the world on that day.
So, to you Rita, I wish you many more happiest days of your life. My guess is it only gets better. And though the wedding day itself passed by in the blink of the eye, all the exceptional things from it will carry on for a long time.
