It's Quieter This Summer

Published in the Charleston Gazette, June 14, 1979

As hot weather approaches, many people are anxiously anticipating a fun filled time of swimming, tennis, picnics, vacation trips and sunburn. But, as I look forward to a peaceful, uneventful summer, I’m remembering last year when my main objective for the whole spring and summer season was the planning and carrying out of two beautiful church weddings—one in July and the other in August. As the mother of two brides, I was convinced I would not survive the pressure. But I did.

I realize, dear daughters, that you were too caught up in your own oblivious happiness to know or even care what was going through my mind; but now, after almost a year, I’d like to share with you some of the feelings I experienced upon giving up two daughters at the same time.

Each time I watched nervously as the lovely bride floated down the aisle on the arm of a very proud father, knowing full well just how difficult it was for him to “give away” his little girl.

I somehow managed to hold back the tears as I heard the exchange of solemn vows amidst the candlelight and fragrant flowers. But I was touched by sadness when the bride and groom were finally introduced as “Mr. and Mrs. and, flashing radiant smiles, hurried up the aisle and out of the church leaving carefree childhood days behind to enter into the new adventure of married life and responsibility.

Both weddings were undeniably beautiful. Lovely pictures were taken and the receptions came off without a “hitch.” There were delightfully delicious three-tiered cakes, color coordinated punch, dainty rosebud mints, and cool, bubbly champagne. But as the bridesmaid’s bouquets wilted on the table, my mind drifted back to other happy days—not so long ago—when the same two lovely brides were rosy cheeked, golden haired, mischievous little girls. They fought with their brothers and with each other. They imitated everything I did from sweeping the carpet and baking a cake to applying make-up until their faces had to be scrubbed. Some days the task of keeping these two in line was too much for me and I did not spare the rod! Then, when they were fast asleep, tenderness would well up in me and spill over in tears as I’d watch them sleep and marvel at the distinct angelic halos above shining heads.

As they grew older, we played together and worked together, sharing the household chores—which they had learned to do as well as I—and had many endless “girl talks.” We shopped for school clothes and prom dresses and cheered on the high school football team. We grew ever closer instead of being separated by the generation gap like so many parents and teenagers. We worried over each other’s problems and gloried in each other’s triumphs.

 I guess what I’m trying to say, dear daughters, is that it was a pleasure growing up with you.

Even though I miss you terribly at times, I have not experienced a feeling of great loss or an empty, unneeded feeling that the psychology books say is normal. Seeing you both so radiantly happy makes up for all of that. Besides, I have such beautiful memories!

And, after all, I have gained two wonderful sons and the possibility of many grandchildren. Perhaps they, too, will have golden hair and part-time halos!

This story also appears in my book, Somewhere in Heaven My Mother is Smiling~