It is extremely important to be on time for your own wedding—and I was. In fact, I was ridiculously early. Painstakingly applying mascara to every eye-lash, and being certain my lipstick was the exact shade of tawny rose became a matter of national importance. My hair had to be perfect, my nails newly painted. The crinoline under my ivory gown had to be smooth and flawless. There could be no thread out of place, no hair unaccounted for on this day—this Day of All Days.
My shoes were carefully chosen, appealing to my “fun side”. Sure, they came from Target, and tied up with white shoelaces, but who would see them anyway? I took great pleasure in finding ruffly white socks to complement my clunky white sneakers, and waited with great excitement for the day I would wear them.
Jewelry is also important on That Grand Day. My decision was to wear a pearl necklace I had been given at the wedding of a friend, as well as matching pearl earrings I had purchased for my own Special Occasion. The rings would be forthcoming, so my left hand remained bare in anticipation. Shortly before the ceremony I was given a diamond necklace from the groom, bestowed upon me by my future father in law. The chain was a bit long, but with a little creativity and Scotch tape, everything was set. Everything would be perfect.
There were still last minute details, however, and they were given every attention. I remembered my dress still needed a slight alteration on the shoulders. With a flash and a flurry, an attendant had whipped out a needle and thread to make the necessary adjustments. Everyone helped to make this day the most wonderful for me. No one forgot a single minute detail.
As I began the walk downstairs with my friends, I inquired about the location of the groom’s ring. With a quick double-back to the room (that I pretended not to notice), all was set and we made our way to the ceremony.
The girls proceeded to their places in line while I waited in a nearby classroom for my cue. We had worked very hard, and everything was in place. The music was beautiful, the decorations seemed to have an extra shimmer, and the world smiled at me.
My “moment in time” had come, and as I took my father’s arm I tried to remember every second. This day had to be perfect in my memory.
Then that moment in time was over. The closing piano selection accompanied me as I walked from the front of the church holding the hand of my new husband.
No! Wait! This day was going to be perfect! My smile… why did it feel this way? So plastic, so forced. Why did I not look at the photographer when he tried to capture that first moment as a new couple? Why did my heart lurch in embarrassment to be kissed by this man? Why did I feel that rushing panic in my head? It was all so hurried and unexpected. What had I forgotten?
The cake was there and the gifts were piled in gracious abundance. My hairs were all numbered; I had said ‘I do’. There was a kiss, music, laughter. There were flowers, pictures, a smiling audience, my new shoes, and the love of friends and family. I could see nothing out of place.
Lists had been made and checked, double-checked, triple-checked. RSVP’s were received and inventoried; place-cards were in perfect array. We found an affordable caterer, a photographer, a preacher; and a honeymoon was planned. My heart was ready for the giving, my lips for the kissing, and my hand for the holding. A new life would be joining mine, adding to what I lacked, lacking what only I could add. A unit of harmony and care and sheer marital bliss was to be formed on this day. What else could I have forgotten?
It took four and a half years for me to know what was left behind, and no amount of list-making or planning could have made it appear. It wasn’t I who had forgotten anything, it was he.
Yes, he had a tux and a fresh haircut. He was not late. There was a gift for the bride and a ring for her finger. There were tears at the altar when the vows were read. There was that “first kiss” he had been counting on. He said ‘I do’. His faced showed a look of triumph and satisfaction meant to demonstrate his love for his bride. But there! That was the forgotten thing.
He had forgotten to sing to me with his heart, to talk to me with eyes, and to listen to me with his arms. His face forgot to read mine. His hands forgot to hold mine. His body forgot to respect mine. He forgot the cherishing, the adoring, the nurturing, the caring, the hoping, the helping, the guarding, the longing, and the creating of a place in his soul that only I could touch.
He had forgotten but one thing on that Day of All Days, but without that one thing, all else was for naught.
He had forgotten to love me.
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