Thoughts After Attending a Wedding
In my five years as a widow
I’ve attended many weddings—
siblings, nephews, nieces, friends.
I’m grateful to be included,
invited to celebrate,
part of a community that values marriage,
honors commitment,
assumes permanence—
“until death do us part.”
But weddings are hard.
My presence feels like a pallor,
rain on a picnic,
a reminder that marriage isn’t forever.
It only lasts until death,
and death comes for all.
(Sometimes to the young.)
I wish death would take us together,
but usually one is left to walk alone.
The wedding service comes to the holy moment.
Hands clasp, vows spoken, promises made—
a mystery.
Two people, two individuals, two humans—
now one flesh
for life.
I said “I do.”
I’m still living,
but Ed is not.
I was one flesh, but now...
What is half of “one flesh”?
No wonder it hurts.
Should there be a ceremony
to signify the end of a marriage?
Something more than a funeral—
all dead have funerals.
Something more than a trip to the bank
to remove his name from our checking account.
Something…
but what?
I watch this love-struck, starry-eyed couple
say their vows.
They won’t feel any different
the moment they become one.
What happens in an instant,
takes years
to grow into oneness.
My marriage was rent
the moment that Ed breathed his last,
but maybe it takes years
to grow into a single person again.be I’ll limp for the rest of my life.tooleh on Freepik
: Image by prostooleh on Freepik
: Image by prostooleh on Freepi
: Image by prostooleh on Freepik
