I put together my wedding in just three months. I had to fit in with someone else’s timeline. Long story – no funny punch line – plenty of odd side stories. Anyhow I was never the sort of girl to dream about my wedding day. I just presumed there might be one at some time and if there was not, well then I was obviously going to be just fine on my own. My future never depended on having a man in my life.
So apart from exhaustion after the frenzied truncated preparations I didn’t get to feel the come down or hangover that some girls get post wedding. They build up to the event, but I just saw it as a stepping stone to married life.
Only one disappointment registered afterwards. When I looked at the photos. Don’t get me wrong – the photos were lovely, beautifully taken and capturing the day perfectly. But there were some shots that I, as an amateur photographer, would have loved to have had. Because of the rush to arrange everything else I had never asked anyone to capture them for me. Silly things such as a shot of my dress from behind to fully show off the puddle train, or a family shot of just me, my mum and my brother on our own. But I put it behind me because you cannot redo these things any more than you can undo the past.
Four months and four days after our wedding we got word that my sister-in-law had passed away. The baffling shock that surrounds Sudden Adult Death Syndrome. We took out the photos to pick something suitable for her memorial. And then it hit me.
The one photo I really should have got but had missed. Me and my new sister on my wedding day. We always had photos of the two of us whenever we got together. But no. There were loads of us in group shots but not one of just the two of us smiling together in all our finery. All the other missing pictures faded into insignificance against this one missed opportunity. The last shot of my husband’s family all together was taken on the night of our wedding. They all look so happy. Frozen in time. A moment to cherish.