All plans and preparations were completed and the celebration to the union of two young people made for each other is winding down. Two days after the nuptials, the Mother and Father of the Bride take time adjusting to the facts as they have been presented to us. Our daughter is a married woman.
Now that part isn’t so hard to swallow per se, the kids were engaged for 18 months before the big day. We had time to adjust. Hearing the echo in the “cavernous room” left vacant, haunts memories of her well lived life so far. We haven’t decided the disposition of this space. We’re giving it time. Maybe our Andrea will assume her sister’s room. The lack of adequate closet space (my wife’s bane since we bought the place) could be remedied here. Maybe a “Man space” for… (not an option she says as I type).
Lost in contemplative thought and I hear the sound of car tires on the stone approach to the house. A frantic ring of the doorbell summons Janice and me to the door, post haste. There stands the young newlyweds.
“Don’t you have your key?” my wife inquires.
“I don’t really live here anymore” my daughter quips.
A stabbing truth in the reality of this past weekend.
“Maybe so” we say, “but this will always be your home. You two are always welcome!” I complete the thought.
“Thanks, Dad” I hear from the man responsible for my daughter now. A calming hand on the shoulder of my despair. I think we’re easing back to normalcy.