This post, written a few days before my daughter’s wedding on July 11, 2010, will forever and always be one of my favorites. I think you’ll see why it is this week’s Fantastic Friday choice.
Four days until the wedding, and what did I find? A dandy patch of Queen Anne’s lace, swaying tall and graceful, in an easy-to-reach spot by old Highway 30 east of town.
The flower lady, also known as my sister, plans to gather the the lovely weed, to use as an accent when she creates bouquets and boutonnières on Sunday morning.
She sees an accent flower, but I see my three-year-old daughter standing on the pew at a long ago wedding. Looking like she’d died and gone to fairy tale heaven, my little girl watches the first bridesmaid glide down the aisle. My little girl leans toward me, her eyes wide, and whispers, “She’s a princess.” As bridesmaid follows bridesmaid, she whispers the same words.
“She’s a princess.”
“She’s a princess.”
“She’s a princess.”
Then the organ music swells, the guests rise to their feet, and I lift Anne into my arms so she can see the bride, lovely in her white gown. My little girl gasps, clasps her hands, and her sweet, high voice floats above the rustle of the crowd and the music.
“Mommy, look. She’s the queen.”
Her voice swirls around the Queen Anne’s lace beside the road, and the memory of her childish face shifts, I see a bride, wearing my wedding dress and carrying a bouquet trimmed with small, delicate white flowers. A sweet, high voice floats out of the past and across the meadow to where I stand beside the road, staring at the patch of wildflowers.
“Mommy, look. I’m the queen.”
