Dancing on a Cloud

We hadn't exactly planned on the rain. Or the wedding dress emergencies. Or the absentee grandmas.

A few days before the wedding, my daughter seemed startled -- and a little bit annoyed -- that I was ignoring some of the logistics and insisting everything would work out. Maybe it's because I was curled up under my covers in a quasi-fetal position. I get why she might have found that annoying -- and not terribly reassuring -- but it should not have been all that surprising. She's known me all her life.

I barely remember the logistics -- again, not surprising, since I was pretty much ignoring them when the nightmare was in progress. Somehow, the wedding day arrived and almost everybody showed up, which, when you think about it, is the most important part. Frankly, I barely remember the wedding. I heard the desserts were amazing. And the band. I vaguely remember having to clamp the bottom of my dress with a ponytail holder so I wouldn't trip on it. I remember the confetti floating down onto the dance floor. In the pictures, my daughter and her new husband seem to be dancing on a cloud.

We couldn't do anything about the rain. As my father used to remind me, all you can do is let it rain. The photographer and the hairdresser tussled over the pros and cons of a quick picture of the bride on the balcony. An umbrella saved  everything -- for the moment and for posterity.

We couldn't do anything about the absentee grandmas, though I admit my efforts were slightly more herculean on that score than they were for the ordinary logistical nightmares that drove me under the covers. As for the wedding dress emergencies, with a few extra trips to New York and a little blind faith, I knew everything would work out, despite the horrified look on my daughter's face.

What I do remember, vividly, is watching my daughter as she approached where her father and I waited to catch her, halfway down the aisle. My daughter who hates to be the center of attention, my daughter who is bright and independent and far too modern to be the shimmering princess walking slowly toward me. I wanted to inch toward her a little, so she wouldn't have to walk too far alone. I tried not to seem too overprotective when I grabbed her arm.

A year ago, I handed my daughter over to her husband, with not an ounce of doubt. I can see it in his eyes -- not just that day but whenever I see them together --  how much he loves her, how well he will take care of her. There will be plenty of logistical nightmares, and, odds are, it will rain. Together, they will just have to let it rain. And keep dancing on a cloud.