More Tears Than Rain

I could feel that it was tragic I was marrying him, but Spirit sent rain and a rainbow on the day. And somehow. It felt right to do it.

The rain gave a chance for my mother to lend kindness and inclusiveness by letting me borrow her nice, velvet jacket to keep me warm over my silver-glint wedding dress.

Our second child could be seen by my mounding belly, and our eldest of nearly four years old looked so proud and dapper in the rented outfit as our ring bearer.

I’ve since lost our wedding certificate from that blessed day of subtle lighting, which accented through the mini chapel’s beautiful, stained glass windows.

It was as if the whole world’s activity had muted to give space for our progression.

Putting the ring on him was awkward – and inside, embarrassing: it did not slide easily onto his finger. In fact, it was as if his flesh was resisting.

I decided to let him put it on himself in front of everyone, as we played it off – joking. This symbolized to me that he was entering our agreement of his own free will and choice.

I knew that I was doomed to someday leave him.

He couldn’t be mine without his own voice.