- My partner and I have been together for 17 years now.
- We moved from the US to Spain when my mom retired and moved here.
It started when a friend, an event manager at a hotel, asked if we were married. She knew us in a professional capacity, working side-by-side under pressure, and she couldn't believe we hadn't committed to the ritual.
"Do your wedding here! We'll take care of everything," she said.
After 17 years together, my partner and I liked the idea of celebrating our love with family and friends in a beautiful location. Our mothers are in their 80s. If we were ever going to do it, we should do it soon. We set the wedding for August 19, 2023, and began sending out save-the-dates.
I knew my mom was key in the wedding
As a mostly DIY bride whose best friends live thousands of miles away, I cast my mother in the important role of stylist. She's an artist and what they call a SuperAger, a person over 80 with the cognitive function of someone decades younger.
Her body, however, is 85. Her heart is trying to keep up with her ideas.
Two months before the wedding, a doctor was concerned about swelling in her legs and sent her to the hospital. After a battery of tests, she was released with a diagnosis of arrhythmia and was put on anticoagulation medication to prevent stroke or thrombosis. She still wanted to shop for my dress, but I put it off until she felt better.
When a summer cold turned into a deep cough, we became concerned.
We returned to the emergency room and found out she had pneumonia. She stayed overnight for observation and was admitted for five days of treatment. I had never seen her so exhausted, frustrated, and disoriented.
After visiting her on the first day, I went to Pronovias, a store specializing in wedding attire. I knew I needed an appointment for a viewing, but time was of the essence. If I gave up on the event now, I was giving up on my mother.
I walked into the pristine showroom feeling sad and empty
"My wedding is in one month, my mom is in the hospital, and I don't have a dress," I said with a flat tone of voice.
A group of young women were chanting about the dresses their vibrant bride was trying on. The contrast between me, 52 and alone, and them, mid-20s and Instagramming, was obvious to Tatiana, the saleswoman who greeted me.
Tatiana treated me like a precious guest, pulled different styles, let me know if something looked "too old,
" and took photos to send to my mother for feedback. When Tatiana slid her hands into the chosen dress to place the cups that make my chest look bigger, I thought of a story my mother often told.She had designed a party dress to fit her while I was still breastfeeding. It was the only time in her life she had cleavage, and she wanted to show it off. I started crying before she went to the party. She fed me on each side to keep the dress even. By the time I finished, the front no longer fit, and she had to change.
When I scrolled through the photos of my wedding dress to share with my friends, I saw that the best one was preceded by a photo I had taken of my mother's hospital bracelet ID before I left her.
Thankfully, my mother sounded much better the next morning.
I asked the doctor if she would survive, and he assured me she would. The image of our wedding day with my mother by my side was restored.
Now I just need to find shoes.