Twenty-five years ago I purchased the materials to make my dream gown—the one I would wear as I walked down the aisle to marry my prince. Unemployed, still in school, and short on funds, I spent under $125.00 on fabric, lace, sequins, beads, and two patterns (I couldn’t find a pattern for my dream, so I combined two different ones) . While student teaching, I spent every spare minute between lesson planning, grading papers, and teaching to bead the lace (it took about 90 hours). I optimistically believed that I’d be able to do it all—student teach, plan a wedding and make my gown. In the end, friends helped tack on the lace in the hours before the wedding (I have a habit of biting off more than I can chew!).
The dress fit perfectly, the sequins and beads glowed in the soft candlelight, and the long, satin train made me feel like a princess as I walked down the aisle to meet the love of my life at the altar.
After the wedding, I had my dress professionally cleaned and packed and I proceeded to haul it across country during our multiple moves. Occasionally, I pulled it out of its treasure box and tried it on (only during those periods when I was sure it would still fit ). As the years went by, and the moves multiplied, Pedro often jokingly questioned me as to what in the world I was keeping my wedding dress for—it took up a lot of space. I would always reply, “I spent a lot of time making it, there’s no way I’m going to leave it behind!”
By our last move—the empty-nest-move—we entered equally into the spirit of reducing and donating. But I kept the dress. I threw away the two layers of boxes and the special tissue stuffing, though, and packed it in a giant zip-lock bag.
When we finished remodeling the house we moved into last summer, I finally hung the dress in the guest room closet and took a good look at it. Some of those last-minute tack-on jobs had come undone, so the lace was loose in places. The styles had changed—no one wears Princess Di sleeves these days—but the dress still made me smile. The sequins and beads and beautiful lace still glowed in the light.
I thought about how, over the years, children, challenges, controversies, communication errors, and cancer all played their part in changing us from the idealistic, wet-behind-the-ears couple of a quarter-century ago. But Pedro still makes me smile.
Each of those Cs of our marriage presented us with a choice: we could let them tarnish our love or we could work on our relationship and retain the glow. I’m glad we chose hard work. And I’m glad we kept the dress.
In June, at the request of our eldest daughter, I started ripping seams and redesigning. The dress had a purpose again—to make my daughter look like a princess (just not Princess Di) as she walked down the aisle to marry HER prince.
The important part of the dress remained—all that beaded and sequined lace. I removed the sleeves and replaced the long, satin train with something appropriate for a summer outdoor wedding.
Pedro’s eyes glowed with pride as he walked Laura down the aisle. I snapped a few photos and sat back to enjoy her big day. My prayer for her marriage is that it be like the wedding dress—something that she and her husband cherish, spend time on and aren’t afraid to clean, mend, and change as the need arises.
I saved the train and sleeves—maybe one day, she’ll have a daughter, who will eventually fall in love and ask that I remodel the dress—and maybe big sleeves will be back in fashion.