Photo by Ray Woodrow.
There she is, our eldest granddaughter, three weeks ago, she and new hubby. On a freezing windy day in spring, and the bride and her bridesmaids wearing strapless dresses! Goose pimples weren't in it.
Their three children were members of the wedding party. Their nine-year old daughter wore a long red gown, and held the hand of her three-year old sister whose ditto red gown was topped by a sweet little white coat. Five year old son was with the menfolks, Dad the groom and his groomsmen. He wore the same outfit they did, and he was the ring-cushion bearer. They all behaved beautifully. Nine year old has been a self-contained soul since she was tiny. Five year old has survived a major episode of being the two-year old terror. Three year old has always been cute and known it. You know how it is, mischief behind a cherubic exterior. And all three are a credit to their parents. (And their grandparents, and great grandparents, of whom I am one of the latter...)
Bride and groom, therefore, have lived through enough to know they are committed. They have survived the stillborn who lived a few minutes, and two more miscarriages. They've survived working different shifts. They've survived buying their own home. Their relationship has not only survived but prospered. Life may offer no guarantees, but I believe they'll survive marriage.
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