Wedding day musings

Last Saturday my son got married, tying the knot with his long-term partner and teenage sweetheart.  It was a lovely day, very modern and metropolitan; full of sunshine just as they had hoped. More traditionally, it was two families, and close friends, coming together to celebrate an act of union that’s as old as our culture. A proud moment for parents, and a one that inevitably invites reflection on the circles of life.

Not that their wedding was a mirror of ours. Jane and I were wed in a North Wales chapel, on a day of biblical rain, Snowdonia so shrouded in mist you could barely see the valleys. We went back there recently, the chapel closed now to its congregation, though I guess the building will stand beyond our lifetimes. It’s difficult to think of a place less like Wimbledon. 

And yet, on Saturday, there were similarities too. The joy and the fun; the sense of the occasion being shaped by their wishes, rather than a procession of rituals. Or at least not dominated by them. For ceremony is a part of marriage too, connecting us to the traditions and culture I mentioned earlier. Losing it entirely would, I think, lessen its meaning.

So I was pleased that the service, though secular, retained the essential element of binding promises that were once the preserve of the church. I’m not against the later (after all, we were married in a chapel) but it’s surely the commitment that matters most; and the declaring of such in front of friends, family and community. In the event, Mike and Louisa spoke their vows to each other with few dry eyes in the room.

As we all rose to leave, I was conscious that at 65 I had suddenly (for so it seemed) become the oldest of all the relatives present. How had that happened, and what had become of the time between?  Later, standing for photographs, I thought of the monochrome prints we have of our parents' weddings, and their rows of faces spanning four generations. I sense that is rarer today, though I could be wrong.

Because, of course, most things don't change. The bride was the most beautiful girl in the room, just as Jane had been. The groom was happy and handsome, as I’d like to think I was too, albeit that he has more hair!  And their friends, so full of life and opportunity, dancing to the same songs (literally and metaphorically) that we’d done back then.  

Which is just as it should be.  

For if a wedding is a milestone, then let it be a way marker too. When I think of the journey that Jane and I have travelled, I’m filled with gratitude at our good fortune, not only in the paths we chose but in our having those options in the first place. Truly, more than anything in the world, I wish the same for all my children.

Driving home on Sunday, Jane described the day as ‘a good job done'.  She was referring to more than the wedding itself, and I agreed. Though, in truth, that word ‘done’ grated just a little. For seldom have I felt a more tangible sense of a new chapter opening up. Weddings might well be watershed moments, but hopefully we’ve not quite yet reached the sea.