Last night, on what would have been Chris’s 58th birthday, our youngest nephew married his sweetheart. They made their promises, swapped their rings, danced to a Randy Newman song under swirling disco lights, laughed and kissed and beamed before a ballroom full of people awed by love.
A fresh blanket of joy now lies across a date so thickly layered with gratitude and grief. I thank heaven Chris was born. I wish to that same heaven he hadn’t died. It’s that simple. That complicated. But a new thickness now overlays the older, crustier strata, and it’s softer than the others. It warms me. Watching my nephew and his new wife work the room, flushed from love and dancing, reminded me — all of us, at this and every wedding — that yes, life surprises and prevails, and no, we’re not delusional to believe in it. We’re only human.
Or would you prefer a more edible metaphor? Layers of creamy wedding goodness, a sweet fluff of bliss to top them all? Oh, why not. I’ll bite. Pass the cake.