Thirty four years ago, I imagined her to be as held together as the droplets of rain splatting against my window. Anxiety ridden, pacing the floor with heavy breaths containing endless doubts and insecurities. In iridescent white, her gown would graze the floor, collecting heaven’s tears between their fibers.
How could she be so sure?
Their love was easy, but life was complicated. And she was complicated. They’ve lived countless miles apart for five years.
To be away from the one you love feels like being hollowed out with a melon baler, leaving room for nothing new. The worst part about being empty is the inability to replace hollowness with something equally as meaningful. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder. In fact, absence made her heart grow weak and gnarled, molding itself into different shapes to wrench out the last drops of love she had received from him. Even her heart could not remember all the livid details of their short time together, but absence made it possible for her to hunger for more.
So there she was, walking to down the isle with the energy of a storm empowering her. At the front, they exchanged vows. A heavy downpour ensued, drops tumbling fiercely to kiss the parched earth.
It was raining today, just like the day they got married. But thunder has since subsided to peaceful night, mirrored perhaps, of the feeling she had after saying, “I do”.
Between 34 and now, lots have changed. Maybe my version of my parents’ wedding was a bit…dramatized. But between 34 and now that relief still lives on. And I know she is reminded of that sweet release every time it rains.