May 2012
The most poignant moments of my life tend to sneak up on me. Granted, some of them I'm able to see coming: for example, my wedding day, and the days I met each of my sweet babies. I knew in advance that these life-altering days would unforgettable, but I had no idea which specific parts of these days would get seared into my memory. I find that it's usually some small detail, something I wouldn't have predicted would be important, that ends up claiming the honor of making a wrinkle in my brain. Almost always, it's something that moves me deeply and unexpectedly. For example, I remember the receiving line at my wedding much more than I remember the exchanging of rings or vows or the first dance. In my mind's eye are the tears coming out of my grandpa's eyes, the spring in my mother-in-law's step. I can still hear the voices and laughter echoing in the back of the church. From Evie's birth, I recall the weight of her being lifted off of me, out of me, and the intense relief of being able to draw a deep breath. And with Jonah, I think of this song that my hospital bracelet played when I pushed my bracelet to his (a neat safety feature, so no weirdo can sneak off with a baby that's not theirs)-- which gave me a little thrill of joy every time we did it. How could I have possibly predicted that of all of the moments, these would be the ones that persisted? The ones that I can readily recall? Yet my life as I know it is woven out of a million tiny details like this.
Last Saturday some new memories got woven into my life tapestry. My brother got married. Because I'm mostly not an idiot, I knew that the day would bring on lots of feels, and would leave me with lots of good stuff to look back on. Yet, as usual, there was this sucker-punching moment that caught me off guard. It happened at a time that I would have expected to be routine, cursory, a mundane detail: standing in line, waiting to walk down the aisle for the processional. Up to and even including that point, the day had been hellishly hectic. My existence as a human being had been reduced to that of a frazzled and purple-gowned personal assistant for my immediate family: the management of hair, clothes, everyone being at the right place at the right time, plus attempts at gracefully maneuvering the egos and bodily functions of two small kids in formal attire. (Have you ever tried to help a coiffed and incredibly stubborn 4-year old flower girl go pee? Not for the faint of heart.). After Evie disappeared for the umpteenth time and required a cursory search party, I began to fantasize about propping my feet up on a church pew and downing Morgan ‘n’ diets until smiling came easy again.
Yet as the service started, the noise in my head finally quieted down. I stopped, and for the first time looked, really looked, around me. I saw my Mom. She was striking in her mother-of-the-groom attire; that much I had already seen. Now, though, I Saw. I saw through all of the formality and fuss and noticed her fragility. Her pride, her tears, the bittersweetness of seeing her son happy yet so grown up. I saw Dad, farmer-gone-debonair in his tux and cufflinks, his eyes glistening and red-rimmed as he waited with Mom. For a man I have never seen cry, he seemed markedly unabashed about wearing his heart on his sleeve. The therapist in me smiled while the little girl in me wanted to comfort her daddy. Cue my own tears, the cup of my emotion finally runneth over as my parents made their way down the aisle ahead of me.
That’s when I got my sock in the gut: “my little brother is getting married.” In the span of seconds my mind flipped through the catalog of memories that I have stored for Nate. I remembered him as a guileless toddler, following me around the house because I held his tractors captive; as the little guy who ran around with these two other little guys, all in MC Hammer pants and neon t-shirts, who my friends and I labelled "the junior mafia." As a teen stumbling drunk and breaking one of Mom’s fancy lamps, spurring a ten-year secret between he and I, one that we guarded carefully until we were sure we were beyond the statute of limitations on such things. I recalled him leaving home, moving into his first apartment, experimenting with different hobbies and jobs and lifestyles until he found what fit for him. Over the years he became a person I not only loved, but also liked-- he became one of my closest friends. He was no longer a child in any way. He hadn’t been for a long time, but this fact finally hit home for me as I stood looking down the long aisle at that nervous and joyful man who stood waiting at the altar. I felt a pang of loss. Our past was gone. Our little Michl family of four was no more.
In almost the same breath, I thought of all I was about to gain. Before I started my walk down the aisle, I looked back and saw Abby. The beginnings of tears were in her eyes as she clutched her father’s arm. My heart squeezed when I looked at her, and I remembered that already, I loved her like a sister. I wanted her to be in my family. I was happy to say goodbye to the past if it meant that she would be a part of our future.
And this is the snapshot image that will remain when I look back on the day: crying with my parents as we said goodbye to the past and hello to the future. I’ll remember other things, like Evie crawling under a pew and screaming during the ceremony, like the best man’s speech, like losing and serendipitously finding my sunglasses (on one of the groomsmen's faces at 11 PM), like eating a Skittle that I thought was a Reese’s Pieces (and this, my friends, is not a good surprise if you’re me). It was a day filled with stress and joy, dirty jokes and cocktails, old family and new family. It was an honor to be a part of it. Though I did have to let go of my “baby” brother, I got him back as a peer and friend, and I also got a sister-- I'd say that's a hell of a deal, and I couldn't be happier about it.
Cheers, once again, to Nate and Abby!!
Originally published 5/6/2012 on ideclarelifecrisis.blogspot.com. Edited 5/1/2017.
