Then & Now

Reflections from the mother of the groom

My getting-ready sweatshirt, a gift from the kallah’s mom, and my curls, courtesy of the sheitel-and-makeup lady.

I last buttoned my middle son’s shirt for him ages ago. I presume he was wearing a little boy oxford and it was Erev Shabbos, that he resisted having the shirt tucked into his pants because he already felt stifled by the fitted clothing.

Standing beneath the chuppah fastening his kittel transported me back to those early breathless years, when women with grown-up children would give unsolicited advice while we were in line at the market or noshing at kiddush in shul.

They’d whisper in my ear: Enjoy every moment. You’ll see how quickly time flies.

“Yes, yes,” I’d say with a smile, handing my son a snack while humoring them with my reply. What made them think I didn’t know this already?

Silly me, for I really knew nothing at all in the beginning (and had to learn it all anew with each of my sons, neither of whom came with a manual), as much as I believed that I’d treasure each instant of their childhoods, that nothing would escape my notice.

Still now, I can conjure the warmth of the groom’s tiny body asleep on my shoulder, his first words, his first pronouncement of Mama, the joy of tucking him in at night with a book and a song. His obsession with broccoli, his curls, the promise in his big, beautiful eyes. I was there, paying attention, remarking at the wonder of it, and I captured these screenshots in my memory, preserving them like precious trinkets under glass.

I recently made him a small gift of a scrapbook filled with photos from his birth through his engagement. I experienced the full range of emotions, laughing and crying, running up to Miro to say, “Oh my G-d! Remember this? He was adorable. He was so funny. Those eyes!” I also had pangs of regret for the times when I wished to sweep him up and rush him past the hard parts – the tantrums, the trials of adolescence, the worries over so many things because the world is a harsh place and he was mine to protect and love and I had so much to teach him (and would I manage to get any of it right?).

Eventually, I could hear over that din the echoes of what those seasoned mothers tried to tell me in whispers — to treasure all of it, not just the lovely stuff, but also the heavy lifting of parenting, the moments that made me sweat. I had to unbutton my heart to give myself grace then, to know that this is just the way things go, though I never tell the truth of it to a young mother I meet on line in the market. Like me, she knows — and doesn’t yet.

By the time we led our son to the chuppah last week, all of it was long past. He had already flown the nest, found his own way, paved a path for himself, leaving us with a room full of his books and sports gear. But to marry off a child is something other, something outsized and holy, the creation of a whole new world. And surely, a blessing – a gift not a given. I thank G-d for it, and for the opportunity to be present in all meanings of the word.

Friends who’ve married off children whispered to me: Enjoy every moment. You’ll see how fast the wedding flies by. This I knew, truly knew. And yet, I was not prepared for the internal shift I experienced as we moved down the aisle, a flutter of wonder in my gut akin to those first kicks of a baby in the womb.

I embraced the joy, the dancing and singing with family and friends, the welcoming of a new daughter into my heart. But most of all, the beyond-a-doubt knowing — that while the chosson will always be my son, he belongs to the kallah now.

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Wishing you a warm, restful, and peaceful Shabbos.

Love,
Merri