The Moment Arrived Last Friday

I walked out through the back door and up the driveway to get the morning paper last Friday, just as I do almost every morning and it hit me:  Becky's wedding is in a week and a day.  Perhaps it hit me because the quiet of the morning reflected the quiet that had descended upon the house last week.  All the planning and worrying and running around on the part of the bride (and, therefore, the groom) that has been taking place since graduation in May ceased last week.  In this time immediately before the wedding, even the smallest part of life's routine--such as getting the paper--does not seem routine at all.

For example, yesterday, I got a hair cut because, well, I needed a hair cut, only this became my haircut for the wedding.  The next time I get a hair cut, Becky and Jesse will be back from the honeymoon and establishing their own routines and I suppose, we'll be adjusting ours.  The spotlight that we shine on big events also illuminates the fact that every event, even little ones, take place in a single moment that is connected to all the other moments big and small.  To remember that is to remember that all of life, therefore is "momentous."

It is interesting how people at weddings and other similar occasions will say to the featured party, "Oh, I'm so happy for you!" which does not indicate at all how they feel for themselves.  Well, I am happy for Becky and Jesse, immensely so.  I am happy too, but this wedding also leaves me bewildered; I'm bewildered because I can't get over the fact that the further downstream one floats on the river of time, the faster the current.

Perhaps my bewilderment stems from the fact that there are no more moments to be gathered from the Time Before the wedding such as taking Becky to the bus stop for first grade to packing up all her stuff and moving it home from Roanoke College.  I know that there are many wonderful moments yet to be collected--I can imagine many, and I can't wait for those delightful ones that I can't imagine, but right now, I'm in between and it is very quiet around here . . .

Comments

[Austin]

I hope I can type with tears in my eyes . . . this is beautiful, Austin.

[Austin]

Martha, is that you? Did you sign in under my name? Did I do this in my sleep? Is there someone else out there named "Austin" who happens to recognize excellent writing? (!)