This is my sister Betsy’s wedding dress. She dreamed it up herself. She crocheted it herself, working on it for the last year. She imagines butterflies flying from its pockets during the ceremony. She imagines a man loving and compassionate and handsome standing opposite her as she wears it, a man she deserves, a man we all imagine for her, too, but a man who hasn’t yet found her.
Betsy is disabled. She has some deficits, but don’t we all? Do they make us any less complete as human beings? No one is more complete than Betsy. She loves with fullness, comprehends with kindness, feels with depth and grasps the world with a wisdom and joy I only wish I had. But I don’t need it. I have Betsy. We all should have a Betsy in our lives.
She has a few dreams for hers. One is to meet Barry Manilow. Another is to meet the man who will enter her world and stay there, who will take her hand and hold it forever, who will see her with eyes filled gratitude and wonder as she wears her beautiful, brilliant, kaleidoscopic gown of love.
Betsy is an artist. Betsy is a font of unending and ebullient creativity. Betsy is a force of love and light and hope and warmth. Betsy is a gift.
Behold her wedding dress. And while you’re at it, behold her heart.