A00247 - It Won't Be Like This For Long

 

A week ago, I attended and participated in the wedding of my oldest daughter, Camille, to Jeremy Pointer in the city of Spokane, Washington.  It was an emotional time for me, filled with many tears. Most people first saw those emotions when they saw me walking Camille down the aisle with tears traveling down my cheeks. Of course, I was not alone.  Camille had tears too and when Jeremy saw the two of us, he began tearing up too.  It got so bad that the pastor decided to intervene by saying that we needed to get on with the ceremony to avoid having everyone in tears.  I was able to do my job and answer "I do" when the pastor asked who gives this woman to be married to this man. I then sat down. But the tears only stopped for a brief time.

Actually, the flood gates had already begun to flow when Camille called me in late February and asked that I go through the old photo albums and send her some photos that she could use in a video montage during the wedding reception.  It took me a little while to get started, but once I did a floodgate of memories came back and the realization that those times were long gone descended upon me.  Seeing tender family moments from forty years ago and coming forth was, in many ways a traumatic experience.  So many of the photos were taken with treasured family members who are no longer here and the moments depicted often showed a happiness that can never come again in this physical realm.

I really could not choose which photos were best, so I sent Camille far more than she needed.  But the damage had already begun.  I told her that seeing those photos had caused me to become teary eyed and that I was afraid that I would be a basket case once the wedding began.

Camille reassured me that all would be fine and that all I needed to do was to say "I do" when the pastor asks me the question.  So, with that reassurance I felt confident that I could get through the ceremony without too many tears.

The day before the wedding, the Jenkins and Pointer families convened at the Women's Club of Spokane to prepare the venue for the wedding that was to take place on the next day.   It was actually a nice bonding exercise allowing the two families to get to know each other and to work together.  After working for four hours, we ran through a rehearsal of the wedding itself.  And I was fine.  My confidence began to rise.  I can do this. I really can.

But then came Saturday.

We all gathered in our finest.  Before the ceremony got started, Camille came to me and told me that she had a special gift for me.  She had some special cufflinks that she wanted me to wear.  I was surprised and immediately opened the box to put them on.  I noticed that the cufflinks were engraved.  One of the cufflinks simply read "Father of the Bride 3/16/24".  That was fine.  But the other cufflink read "I loved you first.  Camille" and the floodgates began to crack. I did not cry immediately, but as I waited at the staircase waiting for Camille to come through the door so that I could walk her down the aisle, the flood gates came down.

As described above, the impact was contagious. And, unbeknownst to me, the flood would not be confined to my simply walking my daughter down the aisle and completing my task of saying "I do".  No, the real downpour was yet to come.

After Camille and Jeremy lovingly exchanged their vows and were officially confirmed as man and wife, the bride and groom disappeared for a time while the rest of us convened in the large reception hall.  While we waited for the newlyweds to return, we were treated to a video montage containing many childhood photos of Jeremy followed by many childhood photos of Camille... many of them the photos that I had sent her.  The montage was accompanied by one of my favorite country songs, which on this particular occasion only caused the tears to more freely flow.  This is the song

   

Darius Rucker - It Won't Be Like This For Long (Official Video) (youtube.com)

Darius Rucker - It Won't Be Like This For Long (Official Video)

It has been a week, but it still makes me cry.

Peace,

Everett "Skip" Jenkins

Fairfield, California 

March 23, 2024