On Saturday 17 September we celebrated Ron and Amber's wedding. It was a beautiful affair. It was set as a simple garden party for family and close friends at Ron's father's home on a golf course, overlooking a winding river.
There were pint ball jars with tags made of black board material on which you wrote your name in chalk so you had your personalized pint drinking glass for the duration of the party. I stuck to lemonade but others enjoyed drinking spirits. There was a traditional bluegrass trio that played accoustic music with skill and careful attention to each other's contributions. Real music filled the air.
The evening was luminous and the gathering convivial in that rare way when a gathering just works. The grandkids were full of life and excited to play with their new cousin Landen, who fits into the family as if he was always a member.
The ceremony was simple. Amber, who is beautiful in face, figure and spirit, descended the stairs to the patio and walked up a path made in the pine needles to where Ron and the minister awaited. My heart filled with a gentle kind of joy, foreign to me. As I watched Ron and Amber hold hands, it occurred to me that Bonnie was there by me, viewing the event with love and pride.
The minister mentioned that we were not only here to marry these two people but we were also remembering Bonnie. I was stunned. I watched Ron being a stoic groom, until the thought of "remembering Bonnie" hit him. It was like a heavy ax struck the bones of his chest with a reverberating blow. And he cried out. I heard that familiar sound of anguish. We were all shocked. Then Ron struggled to pull himself together to be there for Amber and the rest of us. He gathered himself up and stood as a man, both open to his love for his mother, and determined to marry his life partner. In that moment I recognized how much I admire and love Ron.
Hearing Ron's cries, I felt his anguish. It called forth my own sorrow from it's depths. Tears were suddenly streaming down my face, and a small cry escaped my throat. I knew that I had to fight back vocalization of my pain so as not to distract from the ceremony and to not frighten the grandchildren. I stood struggling to get into present time.
The balance of the cermony was a sort of a pastoral delight, punctuated by Landen interjecting some funny commentary around the exchange of the rings that I did not hear but which cracked up the minister and Ron and Amber.
The dinner was amazingly good with tender asparagus and moist flavorful roasted pork loin with a mustard tinged bernaise-like sauce and home-made pies of every description. It was one of the best meals and one of the most gemutlich gatherings I can recall. I drove home and wondered if Bonnie could really have been present and appreciated her son and daughters and their children on that special night.
This is the 400th entry in this journal / weblog. I am thinking that it should be the last entry here as this is no longer about Bonnie's Recovery - it has become more about my attempts to recover my Bonnie.
We shall see what you have to say.