The Wedding’s Over. Now What?

May 25, 2022

It’s Monday morning after my son’s wedding. I’m in Woods Hole, in my shack in the garden. It’s a densely foggy day. The lawn has grown long in the week since we were last here. And it’s wet. Wet feet and ankles at six am from walking the dogs, Ziggy and Billy around the garden. Ziggy is ours. A Schnauzer. Billy is on loan from the newlyweds who are honeymooning in Jamaica. The dogs are both small and close the ground. Their bellies are sodden from dew like my feet. I towel them down. Afterwards, I feed them and leave them contentedly gnawing on bones. I make a cup of coffee. I say good-morning to another son, Noah and his pals, Jesse and Isaac, on their way out to fish.

And now, I’m here in the shed with the London Writer’s Salon on the screen. I needed it this morning. To remember that I have a creative life of my own. That there is life after months of wedding planning. That we will not go bankrupt despite the appalling amount of money we handed over to the wedding venue yesterday. Joe, my husband, was up half the night worrying about it. He worries these days. He didn’t used to . But now, I’ve had to install reading lights in our bedroom so that his middle of the night anxiety attacks can at least take place not in the dark.

Yesterday afternoon I felt flattened with fatigue. Today, I’ve got the after party blues for sure. A bit sad and very nostalgic, I find myself tearing up at the slightest provocation. I keep a tissue up my sleeve to dab my eyes. I must remember not to be too hearty about it and remove the very expensive eyelashes that were installed for the wedding. As I don’t have much in the way of eyelashes these days, I’ve grown attached to them.

I kind of want everyone to go home and let me get my feet back under me. Make art, write, etc. Structure has always been helpful. But then there’s the desperate feeling that the apex of the visit from Noah and his girlfriend, Gabby, has happened. Their much anticipated visit from Colorado is coming to a close. We are slipping down the other side to the leaving part. I remind myself that, like a great meal, this isn’t the only visit or the last one. There are more great meals. There are more visits.

I love these people, my children, my family. I am grounded in my joy of them. They are the meat of my life. In the age of women’s emancipation from domestic life it is something I am growing not to feel too self-conscious about. I made them before I knew much about myself but it has turned out to be the most important non-decision of my life. In creating them I formed the family I always needed and from that centered place grew the parts of me that had never developed well.

I turn from the computer, rest my head on my hand and gaze out the bank of windows to the garden. Outside the shed, the birds are wildly singing. Early spring green leaves stand out fluorescently against the pale gray sky. I re-read what I have written so far. Perhaps, I love too much, I think. I step back in my mind a bit. I must make some distance, I decide, so as not to be too disappointed when they leave. Not to be overbearing or anxious. Not to hold them too tightly or demand too much. I smile inwardly. Act casual while my heart is full of little tears — like fabric, lovingly worn thin and fragile?

I think of the wedding photos. All dolled up in my glittering Mother-of-the-Groom dress, a woman I don’t recognize with her hair-sprayed hair. The heavy made-up face. She looks older than I feel and quite disoriented. I realize I feel a bit disappointed. As if, I wasn’t at the wedding at all but had received a report. Some other woman showed up and impersonated me. Next wedding, I tell myself, no hairspray, no heavy makeup. No brocade dress. I will be older at the next wedding. I just hope I’ll be more in my skin and look through my own eyes. I’ll be waving good-bye. Saying hello to some new version of being a mother.

Yes, I’ve got the after party blues alright. Perhaps the fog will clear later this morning. Perhaps the blue sky of today will appear. I will go for a walk. I will buy dinner at the market. And, Joe will mow the lawn. We’ll pull weeds and get our hands dirty and buy vegetable seedlings. And it will feel like a normal day.