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BY AMY KOVER 
Three weeks before my wedding, my mother was diagnosed with a severe form of cancer. "I can't be sick," she informed the doctor after he explained there was an eighteen-inch tumor growing in her stomach. "My daughter is getting married. I don't have the time for cancer." She wasn't kidding. For a year, Mom and I had painstakingly designed floral arrangements, obsessed over logistics and withstood countless fittings - all of which were to culminate in one spectacular Memorial Day weekend on Block Island. There, my fiance, Jeff, and I would exchange vows before sixty guests on the lawn of a glorious Victorian hotel overlooking the navy blue ocean. I had planned to spend the month before my wedding like a princess, perfecting my nails and shopping for bathing suits. Instead, I was shuttling my mother to doctors' appointments where the news grew increasingly worse. Though she required surgery, the doctor warned us it wouldn't cure her. He had spotted signs of more growth on her lungs. My mother was already so weak that Jeff and I considered canceling the wedding. (She wouldn't hear of it.) Luckily, most people do not have to juggle the joy of marriage and the pain of illness simultaneously. Yet life-changing events seem to come in droves. You land a new job a week before your wedding, your sister announces she's gettin a divorce at your rehearsal dinner or you get evicted the morning of your honeymoon. No matter what the circumstances, the following life lesson applies to every bride: Weddings are never about magnificent flowers, elegant dresses and a kickin' band. They are one of the few moments that everyone you love comes together in one room. My mother pegged it yeaars ago when she said: "A wedding is just a chance for you to tell everybody how much you love each other." Yet as May 26 approached, Mom seemed to have forgotten that speech and believed our wedding was magic. If she perfected each detail, she thoughht, this one weekend could transcend time, illness and even death. "This stupid tumor is not going to ruin your wedding," became the mantra. Though Mom never kept a secret in her life, she insisted that we tell no one in her family about the cancer. Our wedding still felt frivolous the morning Mom and I headed out to Block Island. The ferry ride had been taxing on Mom's wobbly legs and weak stomach. Watching her struggle, I wondered, Why are we doing this? But then we docked, and as I breathed in that familiar scent of ocean mixed with cooking grease, I remembered: I always dreamed of getting married under Block Island's watery light. "I can't believe we made it!" my mother marveled. Mom soaked up the weekend like sunshine. She took her brothers and sisters on a tour of the island, proudly repeating every island fact she could remember. And she watched the kids in our families tumble down the hill in front of our hotel. By the day of our wedding, I couldn't help help but feel like a bride. Nervous, tense and insanely excited. I even hollered at Mom like a bratty teenager, "Calm down!" (Must confess, it felt great.) And nothing prepared me for the enthusiasm of everyone else. My best friend baked a wedding cake fabulous enough to merit two standing ovations. Some of my mischievous guests spray painted a rock with the words "Jeff + Amy." Jeff's dad kept crying (he's a softy!); and my father gave the most loving toast I have ever heard. People who say they cannot remember their weddings are simply looking in the wrong places. True, I barely glanced in the mirror that day; and I know there was a threat of rain, but I can't recollect clouds. But I'll never forget Jeff - usually the mellow, calm one - brimming with adoration as we walked down the aisle; or my nephew, who jumped up and down when he first saw me dressed like a bride. "You look siiiilllly!" he giggled. And I can still clearly see my mother standing next to me beneath the chuppah, looking beautiful in a sea foam green silk suit. People who say they cannot remember their weddings are simply looking in the wrong places.My mother died one month after our wedding. She went into the hospital a few days after returning home and never came out. It was as though she used up all her strength on us, as though our wedding was her kiss goodbye. Every day, I stuggle to wake up, knowing that she's no longer in my life. But then I glance over at my bed stand, where a photo of her at the wedding sits. She's smiling in a way I never remember seeing before, elegant, graceful and somehow fulfilled. It's almost as though she is saying, "Thank you for a wonderful time." |
Overcoming stress: Tips on how to cope... Take a second look before you book Wedding Gown Designer Amy Michelson's Success is No Act |
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