My husband died three years ago. This weekend I attended my nephew’s wedding; the first wedding since my husband died. I had been looking forward to it all month long because these last two years has been nothing but funeral after funeral as family members and friends passed; I’ve lost count how many.
I got through ceremony just fine. It was short, sweet, and only 15 minutes long. This mostly had to do with the fact that the church they had it in had no air conditioning so the priest decided to get to the point early on.
I made it to the reception. I was doing ok. All was good. Then they started announcing the arrivals. I lost it, right there. It was the silent hide my face cry because I didn’t want 60 strangers staring at me. Somehow I managed to wipe all the tears off without running to the restroom, get through the first dances, and eat. But the longer I stayed the more I needed to just leave.
So about 45 minutes into the reception, I fled. I left a family member rather confused at my departure, who texted me to find out what was going on when I fled. I had to tell her that I needed to leave because I really didn’t want to ugly cry in front of 60 strangers, nor did I want to bring the reception down because I was ugly crying in front of 60 strangers. The event needed to be about the bride and groom; not my grief over how the wedding was set up very much like mine was when I got married.
I got home and threw myself into setting up the soaker hose for my garden, which I’d failed to untangle and get together that morning. It’s not pretty, and I’m sure I could have done better, but now I have a timed water management system that seems to be working.