What I Learned From A Fitting Room

Two weeks ago it all got real.

Margaret really is going to become Mrs. Jesse Littleton, Margaret Elaine Clapp Littleton. She is going to walk down the aisle in a white dress and be delivered to a charming handsome man who has somehow swept her off her feet. 

I know the feeling. Roger Clapp still is Superman and 007, more handsome than George Clooney or Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke. Smarter than Indiana Jones.    

But how can Margaret feel that way about Jesse? (Or Dave feel that way about Jen? Or Shayna feel that way about Bobby? ) 

I keep telling myself that my kids are grown men and women, but when I saw Margaret come out of the fitting room in the dress she borrowed from Aunty Judy, I was not ready to be blown away. A woman stood there in front of me. Someone who could take all the ups and downs of living in relationship for the rest of her life. 

But I saw Margaret when the doctor said, “It’s a girl.”  I saw her in my favorite yellow gingham baby-dress, in Judy’s rain coat at the zoo. I saw her quilting, knocking over girls on the soccer field, walking down the street carrying her cello, waving good-bye as we left her at Path Of  Life Camp, or in her dorm in Texas or Kentucky, or in another apartment in New Paltz. 

I saw all the Margarets I’d known—from the one who kicked me constantly while I carried her—to the one who stood wearing that fabulous dress and grinning at me as I cried.  

Maybe this is real reason the bride’s Mom gets to see her in the dress beforehand.  On August 25^th, I just might be able to smile and greet people, to walk and talk. But please do me a favor and bring me a hanky.