2000

March 4, 2000, was an exceptionally warm day in Washington D.C.  Birds chirped their own joy from the branches of the budding cherry trees as the morning sun drank the dew from the nascent greening grass that surrounded Capitol Hill Baptist Church.  The historic red brick structure stood stoically in the fragrant early morning unaware of the bustling that would soon awaken its creaking stairs and give purpose to its somnolent inner chambers.  Flowers would dress the old church in electrifying colors - pink, green, neon orange, yellow, blue and red - making its sanctuary a spring garden worthy of the bride who would soon grace its very center with her groom.  Deep in its heart, the church would hover close and listen, as it had a thousand times before, as the bride and her party chattered of love and honeymoons, make-up and panty hose, and mothers and in-laws while they zipped up  pretty dresses and splashed on sweet perfume.  It was Heather's wedding day.

Anticipation stirred up my adrenaline, making my heart beat faster and my brain shift into overdrive.  Not only thoughts of the morrow and all its inherent excitement and tasks drove me to pace in wonder, but also the joy of being with friends and family from all over the country who had joined us and were asleep somewhere in the Marriot at that moment.  In a gesture of love, toward restoration, my older sister came, with her husband, from Texas.  Having my own family around for the first time in years was so healing.  During the rehearsal dinner the evening before, I could not keep my eyes off her.  We look alike, my older sister and I.  She is shorter and usually wears her hair cropped short, but our features are similar.  Slumbering, also, in the hotel was Daddy.  He had driven from Arlington, Texas, with a young man who rented out one of the rooms in Daddy's house.  Daddy had arranged for the two of them to share a room, but I paid for a separate room for his young friend when I discovered Daddy's plans.  Marlana had come with her husband and their two youngest children.  Friends from Los Angeles, Atlanta, and Wichita Falls, Texas, were also nestled in the quiet of pre-dawn in their rooms.

My younger sister could not make it but she sent a letter that was so precious to me that I kept it.  In part, she wrote:  "I'm mostly sorry (that I cannot come to the wedding) because it seems like the wedding might have been a good time just to show up, be present with you, help some, and start the process of getting back in touch with each other.   I really do hope that you'll know, despite my absence, that I'm marking this very important event in your life with you.  I think about you, and about Heather, so often, and about what it must be like to really let her go forward in this way.  I know you'll give her a great and memorable send off into the next phase of her life, and I'm truly sorry that I won't be there to see it, wagging my hankie in my hand.  I wish her the best."

I had not seen Daddy before the wedding, as he had arrived late in the evening on  Friday. Because the wedding party had to be at the church for flowers and pictures, it was not until guests began arriving for the wedding  that I greeted my father and his young friend. Though seeing Daddy was awkward, I could not help but be blessed by his desire to drive all the way from Texas to be with us.  It took great effort on his part.

At eleven a.m., I came down the aisle on my son's arm and was seated at the front of the church.  The moment was surreal, despite all the planning and anticipation.  One by one the bridesmaids, dressed in shiny teal blue dresses and carrying enormous multi-colored bouquets, solemnly strode to their places at the altar.  When we stood for the bride and turned to see her, gorgeous and radiant in her Oleg Cassini gown, a quick unexpected sob choked me, making me gasp.  My baby on her Daddy's arm was beyond beautiful. In a magical moment, Bill gave her to her handsome groom and then sat down beside me.

"How beautiful, the radiant bride, who waits for her groom with his light in her eyes..."came Vanessa's clear, exquisite voice singing God's love song to Heather and Nick, her groom.  Lilting, hovering in the dense aura present in the church, like the thick aroma of honeysuckle lingers near the vine on a warm summer morning, each note was almost unbearably sweet. I turned to look at my father and noticed the tears settling into the wrinkles on his rapt face.  My family was a mystery to him - my children, as adults, were unknowns.  Though my parents had watched a pre-school Vanessa sing into the hair brush she pretended was a microphone, Daddy did not know the beauty of her adult voice. After the wedding, he asked me several times if Vanessa would sing at his funeral when the time came.  I had no answer then.  The event was a wedding and not his funeral, so I put the question out of my mind.

It was Daddy's plan to leave right after Heather's wedding and drive back to Texas.  My sister and her husband, however, wanted the young man with Daddy to at least see some of the sights of D.C., so they left after the reception and took him to the mall and the monuments.  Daddy drove off before dawn the next morning without telling me good-bye.