Who she is

One of my best friends got married last weekend. And every time I relive the wedding, my eyes well up with tears – the overwhelming, happy kind.

I didn’t know Edie when she grew up at the farm, played basketball or coped with her parents divorce.

I did know her though when she stood up in front of an angry mob and maintained her composure. I knew her when she struggled to figure out past relationships. I knew her when the next step in her career was confusing. And then I knew her when she met the man she would marry. And when she got the ring. And when she was pissed about the color of vests. And when she said “I will.” (Note: Weddings never actually include the phrase “I do.” Why?)

Edie and I don’t talk much about the weather, politics or the mundane details of our day. We usually ponder the struggles of relationships, the greatness of loving and being loved and the awareness we have of our own insanity.

Edie is the most caring, soul-searching, thoughtful person I know. And it showed in her wedding. In the speech she gave her special girls right after applying her mascara, careful not to brush the black wand against her perfect white dress. In the way she included us in the processional, ending with a pink rose presented by the man who holds her the closest now. In the prayers of thanks for the wisdom, love and laughter we’ve given to her life.

The day was about a sacred union of two great people. But it was also a celebration of the people that made Edie the wonderful girl she is.

And before she ran out under a shower of birdseed, she walked over and handed me her bouquet with a hug. “Because you’re next.” And I cried for the 100th time that day.