September 1, 2014
Greetings from the FOB,
It is one thing to write about ‘being in the moment’ or even
aspire to it, and it is another thing altogether to fall headlong into it. An interesting aspect of truly paying full
attention to what is happening to you, being absolutely present, is that it is
sometimes the moment is bigger than you.
Katherine stood next to the Father of the Bride and they
both smiled and silently willed each other not to cry.
My daughter eclipsed the word ‘beautiful’, and even as I
said the word to her I wished for some other word to say how incredible she
looked. She stood in a quiet alcove, waiting
to join me in our walk.
I felt her arm on mine, and we stepped to the threshold, the
edge of the white runner that led to this next adventure that she would
begin. And I felt her tremble, and I
could see from the corner of my eye that she was going to cry, and that would
be the end of me and my fragile composure.
I could feel all of that, and sense this wave of emotion,
rolling from the people in the room, radiating from the bride next to me. The rows of chairs, artfully flowered and
arranged, were filled with friends and family, all smiling, charging the space
with this one good message.
At the end of the room, in a triangle of sunlight, stood a
young man who waited to say ‘I do’ when asked.
I know him, trust him with my daughter’s life. He is my friend, and now in moments he will be
more than before. The look on his face
was open, shining love.
In the eternity that it takes to walk thirty steps, Katherine
passed into a different place.
Still my daughter.
She is still all the things I love about her. But now we slowly neared this other place
where she will be more than before.
I love the memories of Katherine growing up, and in the last
few weeks I have thumbed through those images, smiling at the celebrations, the
triumphs and even the painful little steps that all kids go through.
Even as I sampled bits and pieces of her from all of those
years, I could take my time with it. I could watch the progression as if I were
reading a book that unfolded her a chapter at a time. I could absorb it,
process it, enjoy it.
My daughter becoming old enough to tell people how old she
is. And careening down the sidewalk on
her tricycle. And doing complicated
math. And flying to Ecuador. And pedaling across the country. And moving into an attic apartment. And loving to come home to visit. And creating her own life.
A few steps on the white runner, suddenly very conscious of how
I walk, the texture of her veil, the beads on her bouquet, my own
breathing. And in all of that, my
daughter creating her own life.
And then it’s not subtle, and it’s not a timeline, it’s not
a season or an age or a phase of life. It
is all in one moment. All the change,
all the new, everything is in this one moment. It consumed me like a tsunami. It was overwhelming.
People cry at weddings for different reasons, I suppose. I have only one experience from this
perspective. To me it was not a question
of whether I would cry or not. In truth
I was not so much fighting the emotion, or even the tears. I know better than that; even trying to be poised
in a time like this is like trying to hold smoke in your hands.
I just relaxed and let it come. And it did not wreck me.
And the eternity it takes to walk thirty steps passed in a
moment, and the man who would be her husband took her hand and led her those
next steps, and if there was any world outside of that moment I was not aware
of it.
I will share this. I
felt connected to Katherine and Tim. I
felt connected to the people in the room who all shared this love, who gave
witness to the moment we had stepped into.
I felt connected to those people who could not be in the room but sent
their message to us. There is no Richter
scale to measure this, but it registered as one of the most powerful moments in
my life. I’m certain this is how we are meant to feel.
I’m so glad I was really there to experience it.
Hope this finds you in
situ,
David
Copyright © 2014 David Smith
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