Today I dug deep in the trunk and pulled out the album.
The cover is age-blemished. Pages yellowing. The cards are fragile, antiquated. The inked signatures, along with the love and best wishes, are fading.
On this day, forty years ago, my dress was ready and hanging on the closet door. My mother paid $130 for it and repaired the uneven hem. We’d found a cathedral bridal cap on the clearance rack, the price reduced because the pearl beading was coming off—she bought that, too, and restitched the tiny beads.
When Grandma offered to pay for the wedding cake, my mother wept.
My mother-in-law had new carpet installed in her home just prior to hosting the rehearsal dinner. She made spaghetti. A widow of eleven years, she’d given her engagement ring to her boy, to give to me. She cried on the morning of our wedding because it was raining, but the sun broke through the clouds in all its summer glory before the ceremony. The following spring, she would remarry.
My father asked a coworker, an amateur photographer, to take pictures. Our next-door neighbor, whose three kids my mother babysat for years, hosted my shower and provided the refreshments for the reception.
My grandmother asked her sister to stay with my grandfather, who was ailing and not up to traveling three hours in a car (cancer would make itself known and his bladder would be removed; he would live another fourteen years). Grandma was determined to be there. One of my most treasured photos from that day is of her seated on a pew alongside my Grannie and my mother, all of them smiling, wearing matching white carnation corsages.
My mother made the four ocean-blue bridesmaid’s dresses; my sister and new sister-in-law were radiant in them. Mom also made my sky blue going-away outfit and, at the last minute, removed her white beads and put them around my neck. The final photos in my wedding album are of her in her handmade pink dress, minus the beads, watching me leave, and my father standing in his black tails and striped ascot, grinning from ear to ear, a big cigar clenched in his teeth (congrats, Daddy; your eldest is safely handed off, not your responsibility anymore).
I was twenty years old.
I loved them all. I knew they loved me.
My family.
Forty years later, I remember them, despite the unraveling. The irreparable rifts. Death, loss, mental illness, addiction, estrangement, falling away… the story is surreal. Nightmarish. Like something from Picasso’s blue period with Van Gogh’s cypresses lurking in the foreground.
But on that bright day, we were together, celebrating. I read every faded, fragile card and my own handwritten record of the events. So much hope and joy, all there, preserved. For a few moments I linger in the vibrance, the whole wide circle of family love, everything that culminated in this new beginning. I remember my mother’s sacrifices especially.
And so the prologue ended. There are pangs, yes. Shatterings and shards in the heart. But the love is there. Still there. Despite all.
I poured my life into chapters that wrote themselves across the four subsequent decades, into the husband, the ministry, the children and now grandchildren, that God has granted me. As my husband said in the CICU to our oldest son, after regaining conscious from induced hypothermia, recovering from his first heart attack, cardiac arrest, and surgery: I have poured everything I have into you.
Duty. Sacrifice. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part.
And so I made my vow, not only to a once-young man but to God, who loves with a steadfast love, from everlasting to everlasting.
Today my dress is ready and hanging on the closet door. Ivory with lace sleeves. Not new, but it’ll work. Tomorrow our family—our sons, daughters-in-law, granddaughters—will gather to celebrate this milestone with us.
I shall tell them, as best I can, that they’re infinitely more than what I dreamed of when I first set my satin-slippered foot on this path, forty years ago. Gifts beyond compare. Love multiplied, exponentially.
Straight from the hand of my Lord, who makes all things new.
I close my album.
with special thanks to the insightful band of Spiritual Journey writers and to this month’s host, Leigh Anne Eck, who chose the topic of “family.”
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lit bits and pieces 
Fran, You said in your comment to me that my mother’s song is still singing in me. That was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me. I’m tearing up after reading that comment then coming here to find this amazing post about your lifelong love of 40 years. Isn’t it amazing? The things we travel through together and the loved ones we pour ourselves into. All of it and yet, we cannot shield any one of them from trouble or heartbreak, can we? That’s where God in our lives is the most precious thing. This weekend we are gathering around the baptism of my youngest daughter’s best friend’s baby. I’ve asked my priest (jokingly) to splash some of the holy water over on my grandchildren. My own daughters have not baptized any of theirs. The handmade baptismal gowns that I made are still tucked away and won’t be used. I can be sad about it, but I choose to embrace these babies anyway. I know God does, even without the ritual. Thanks for sharing and for being you.
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Oh, Fran, what a rich and thoughtful post, as you regularly create. Thank you for sharing so much from your heart. The sacrifices of your mother and all the sweet pieces that came together through so many loved ones is a delight to revisit with you in these words. Regarding the unraveling of so much, I was touched by these words, “Nightmarish. Like something from Picasso’s blue period with Van Gogh’s cypresses lurking in the foreground.” You made it so tangible and sensory.
Have a blessed celebration of your 40th. These words about your sweet family are priceless: “infinitely more than what I hoped and dreamed for”
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First Congratulations on your journey one that I suspect (because all marriages do) has had its share of many ups and downs and gray periods (again like Picasso). You faded pictures and memories are the roots of what you are celebrating: the future you have planted and the lives you have launched through blood, sweat and tears. Your post has me hearing Kenny singing “Through the years” and has left me in happy tears for you all.
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Fran, life is a journey filled with ups and downs, joy and sadness, rifts and blessings. Through it all, God is beside us helping when we need Him most. Congratulations to you and your husband. Your strength, love, and faith has seen you through many joys and heartbreaks. May God continue to shower you with His blessings. Bob
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Fran, This post touched my heart so deeply. I could relate to your poignant descriptions starting with the simple weddings of long ago, when pricey wedding gowns and elaborate receptions weren’t the status quo. I could relate to the closeness of family, the unraveling of relationships and the permanence of your marriage and joys, heartaches and rewards of raising a family. Most of all, I could relate to your reliance on faith, knowing the hand of God guided your journey. Savor every moment of this special anniversary and may you celebrate many more. Blessings to both of you!
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40 years of life in marriage. I tell my kids, marriage is the hardest thing in the world to do — but maybe not. Maybe family is the hardest. It resonates with me, Fran, that those first steps, those first years were “the prologue.” It helps me remember that our lives are not finished. I also think that your reflection helps me see that, just as in my marriage, I have a commitment to my family — despite the heartaches, the pictures being taken off the wall. I’ll have to think more about that.
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Fran, your blog is filled with such specific details that made your wedding a beautiful event. Congratulations on 40 years of marriage! Your album brought back many memories along the way of life. May there be many more days of love, peace, and hope that there will be a grace-filled life for you and family. Love is in the air so take advantage of the wonder of love, life, and family.
I am smiling after reading such a family-oriented remembrance.
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Fran, I am here once again reading your Spiritual Journey writing. I feel comforted reading and following your marriage journey. It is a loving journey, not always easy but certainly one that is filled with the Lord’s guidance. I love the way you can fill a page with words that not only come from your life but affects others as well. Peace be with you.
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