Chicken Soup for the Bride's Soul (15 page)
Read Chicken Soup for the Bride's Soul Online
Authors: Jack Canfield
With a typical wedding cake costing $300, Ed and Linda opted for the more economical wedding pizza.
CLOSE TO HOME ©
John McPherson. Reprinted by permission of UNIVERSAL PRESS SYNDICATE. All rights reserved.
I found the music to her favorite song. I wore earrings that belonged to her. I searched out flowers that had grown in her garden to add to my bridal bouquet. Still, something was missing. Nothing could fill the space in my heart reserved for Nana.
During their nearly fifty-year-long marriage, my Nana and Granddad shared an unwavering love. A love ingrained in my own life. A shining love that made me hope to meet someone, someday, with whom to share a love as deep as theirs.
Now, it was really happening: The time had come for me to marry David, the love of my life. But Nana wasn’t there to see it. Even the comforting knowledge that she and Granddad were dancing together in heaven couldn’t soothe the pain in my heart. I missed her.
The morning of my wedding dawned gray. As I left for the hairdresser, rain drenched everything around me. It continued to rain when I left for the ceremony. Showers gently washed the church windows while we exchanged our vows.
Suddenly, the rain stopped, as we exited the church.
The sun peeked out.
And I felt my grandparents there with me.
Later at the reception, my godfather, Uncle Bob, walked to the podium. “With all this rain, I know the ladies feel like wilted flowers. Your Nana always said that tears were ‘liquid love.’ So it is my belief that all the rain that has fallen is your grandparents’ love showering down. If you can embrace all that love you will have a very happy marriage.”
I felt my own tears “falling down,” and remembered the old adage, “Blessed is the bride on whose wedding day rain does fall.” And I knew now that it was true. I was blessed this day. Blessed with Nana’s liquid love.
Kelly Stevens-Hartley
Y
ou know what they say: “My son’s my son until he gets him a wife, but my daughter’s my daughter all of her life.”
Stanley Banks in
Father of the Bride (1950)
Our parents divorced when Karen was a toddler, and a few years later we were blessed with the best of a complicated world—a father and a stepfather. The situation wound up a bit confusing later on down the road. Especially when it was time for Karen to get married.
As sometimes happened in those days, long before shared custody and divorce mediation, we didn’t maintain much contact with our natural father. It was hoped that our new stepfather would grow to be the apple of our eyes.
Gordon was, in fact, a wonderful man. He accepted us as his children and went on to nurture, counsel and play a major part in the raising of my sister and me. He was the humor in an otherwise dry existence. He was the fun where there often wasn’t any. And he was the true keeper of our hearts, with our best interests always at the center of his own.
I maintained ties with my natural father, too, although initially strained. I saw the situation for what it was and did my best to mend all wounds. Gordon supported this whole-heartedly. Karen, being years younger than me, grew up without really knowing our natural father.
When Karen was in high school and I was married, living far away from home, we went through a second divorce. This time, however, I was careful to maintain ties. Gordon remained the father figure he’d always been and even became “Grandpa Gordon” to my firstborn. Karen and Gordon grew apart some, but reestablished ties after graduation.
Gordon eventually remarried. Carol was ideally suited to him and understood the complications of our situation. When they both encouraged Karen to mend her severed ties with Dad, she bravely set about renewing a relationship she barely remembered.
Communication with Dad was, at its best, on the surface. We knew he loved us and he knew we loved him, but the words were seldom spoken aloud. And none of us ever mentioned our relationship with Gordon.
Before Karen announced her engagement, she voiced her concerns. “I want Gordon to give me away when I get married.”
“Mm-hmm,” I replied.
“But I want Dad to give me away, too. I don’t want to hurt either one of them.”
I knew Gordon would understand. My father, however, would be a little harder to convince. “Let me see what I can do.”
A letter, I decided, felt right. Gordon, of course, was privy to my plan and supported it.
Dear Dad,
We were children when this all started, and the situation was completely out of our hands. As adults now, we need and want you to be our father. We love you and want you to be a part of our lives.
But Gordon is a part of our lives, too. He has been a good man, an honest man, and has done everything a father would do for his children.
Karen is getting married in a few months. It would mean the world to her, and to me, if you would walk her down the aisle—together with Gordon.
Loving Gordon doesn’t mean in any way that we love you any less. There is plenty of room for two wonderful fathers in our lives. Gordon always encouraged contact with you, never spoke a word against you or undermined our feelings for you. We respect the fact that you never voiced negative feelings about Gordon.
Give this some thought. Remember both Karen and I love you and want our family ties to be restored. Remember that in your absence, we established strong family ties with Gordon, and it would be unfair to all of us to expect that to stop.
It would be a beautiful sight to watch Karen walking down the aisle on her wedding day, flanked by two wonderful fathers. It would be an answer to prayer.
I love you.
Kim
A couple of weeks later, Karen received a phone call from Dad.
“So where do I go to get measured for my tux?”
In late August, Karen walked down the aisle with a handsome father on each side of her. They wore identical tuxedos with matching smiles and radiated the same fatherly love and joy.
The blessing to Karen and I was twofold. In addition to ending years of confusion and estrangement, we learned to share the joy of being the proud daughters of two extraordinary fathers.
Kimberly Ripley
B
lessed indeed is the man who hears many gentle voices call him father!
Lydia M. Child
When I was a little girl, my father had a time-honored tradition of tucking me into bed. Following my bedtime story, he would give me a nose kiss, tickle my stomach and whisper the most wonderful words into my ear.
“Michelle, of all the little girls in the whole wide world . . .” he would pause.
“Yes, Daddy?”
“How did your mommy and I get so lucky to get the best one?”
Before he had time to finish, I would say, “You got me!”
And then he would continue, “The best little girl in the whole wide world, and we got you.”
“You got me!” I would scream and clap.
“Yes, you, Michelle, and we’re so lucky.” He would end with a bear hug and another kiss to my forehead.
Years passed and my father never missed a night, even when I thought he should have. After my basketball team was defeated, he came into my room.
“Michelle, of all the basketball players in the whole wide world,” he paused.
“Yes, Daddy?” I stared at the floor.
“How did your mom and I get so lucky to get the best one?”
“You didn’t.”
“Of course we did, Michelle. We have you.”
“But, Dad . . .”
“Yes, you, Michelle, and we’re so lucky,” he cheered, as he gave me a high five followed by a bear hug and a kiss to my forehead.
I thought becoming a teenager would end the ritual, but it didn’t.
“Michelle, of all the teenagers in the whole wide world . . .” he would pause.
“Dad, I’m too old for this,” I would sigh.
“How did your mother and I get so lucky to get the best one?”
“C’mon, Dad,” I grunted.
“We have you, Michelle, and we’re so lucky.” Then the embarrassing hug and kiss.
Following college, I became engaged. My father never missed a night to call or leave a message reminding me how special I was to him. I even wondered if he would continue calling after I got married, but he didn’t.
The daily calls I had taken for granted all my life ended the day he died from cancer, only weeks before my wedding.
I deeply missed sharing the day with my father. Standing behind the white church doors with my arm in my brother’s, I waited for the wedding march to begin. Before we began our descent down the aisle, my brother reached inside his pocket and handed me an ivory napkin embroidered with pink ribbon. Inscribed were the words:
Of all the precious wives in the whole wide world, how did Mark get so lucky to marry the best one? He married you, Michelle, and he is so lucky! I am so proud of you, my little girl.
Love,
Dad
Without a doubt, it was the best wedding gift I received. One I would never forget. My father showered me with his gifts every day of his life. How did I get so lucky?
Michelle Marullo
I didn’t just marry their mother. She had two young teenage daughters whom I loved dearly. For several years, I watched them grow from little girls into beautiful young ladies. We got along great, but I worried that things would change once I married their mom.
Having never been married before with no children of my own, I was concerned about taking on the role of “father.” I read several articles on the subject—all contradicting one another and leaving me nothing but confused. I don’t think I ever made a conscious decision on just “what” to be to the girls. Luckily I didn’t have to—they made that decision for me.
Something wonderful happened. Without any encouragement from my wife or myself, the girls began to call me “Dad.” Such a simple word, but an unfamiliar one that filled my heart with even more love for these amazing girls. By them reaching out, I realized that they needed a dad in their lives. And so the decision was made—I would be “Dad.”
Several years passed and we made it through life with no major catastrophes. My marriage to their mother was a happy one and I was delighted that the girls and I had a strong relationship.
The older of the two, Veneta, was now eighteen and legally old enough to make her own decisions—and a
big
one she made!
On my birthday she presented me with a beautiful frame. This wasn’t a picture or a piece of art, but a legal document protected by a beautiful casing. Veneta had given me the most precious gift—she had changed her last name to mine.
She told me that something was missing when she heard her name being called at her high school graduation. “It wasn’t my father’s name,” she explained.
She continued by promising that the next time I was in a room where her name was announced, that it would be mine. “Everyone will know you’re my dad.”
I know grown men aren’t supposed to cry, but I’ll admit I did that day. This wasn’t the last time she would make me cry.
Veneta graduated college, and along the way fell in love with a great guy who would become her husband.
After months of planning, the big day arrived and I would walk her down the aisle. I couldn’t have been more proud of my daughter, who looked radiant.
As the music started, Veneta took my arm. “Are you ready, Dad?” she asked with poise.
I looked at her, trying to smile but feeling like I needed to cry. My quivering lips struggled with a humble, “Yes.”
I kissed the top of her head—right through the veil— smiled and walked her proudly down the aisle. The ceremony was perfect.
At the reception, I heard the DJ announce the infamous father-daughter dance. Dancing not being one of my better attributes, I became consumed with nervousness. Scared to death, I put on a brave face, took my daughter’s hand and led her to the empty dance floor.
While preparing to relax by taking a deep breath, I noticed someone hand Veneta a microphone and something in a frame.
Another framed gift? Is this déjà vu?
Not knowing what she was up to, Veneta kissed me on the cheek and stepped back. In front of everyone, she began to read a touching poem she wrote about our relationship. She called it “Something Special,” and something special it was.
As she continued, I tried to block out everyone around us so I could just listen to her. Tears filled my eyes when I heard her voice quiver:
“Daddy, it is because of you and your love that I have the confidence and courage to stand here today as Mrs. Jeremy Veneta Novakovich Leonard. I hope that as you look upon me at this moment, it is with the same pride and unconditional love that I have always felt for you. As I begin my new life as Jeremy’s wife, I hope you will continue to hold my hand ‘in your heart,’ offer me your guidance and advice, and continue to be my best friend. I will always be your little girl—and in your heart is where I always want to be. I am proud to be your daughter.”