For the ceremony, I sat in the front row, next to my dad.
Tam wore my mother's wedding gown. We used to find it every summer when we were helping my mom organize and clean out all the closets. We'd find it on purpose, squished in between my grandma's fur coat and some of my mom's fancy dresses.
Floor length chiffon and lace with 70's ruffles and layers—it was the holy grail of dress-up. We'd unzip the bag, and usually just look at it. Wondering about what it would look like on one of us.
We tried it on at least one time, with the veil. There's pictures somewhere.
I like that our society recognizes, in general, that something special should be worn when making an extraordinary promise—whether it's a brand new dress, or a dress that belonged to someone you love. In Tam's case, the dress was more than something gorgeous or a good luck charm—it was a symbol of blessing. At least, as a sister, that's what I was thinking as Tam and her fiance knelt at the altar. And, I wondered what my mom looked like that day.
My mom didn't know she could wear her gown outside the temple—so she wore a light yellow cotton dress when she came out to greet everyone. Tam and I have wondered what happened to it. Tam said when she talked to my dad about this story, he cried—. When she told me, we cried—because that day was so beautiful to him—because he loves our mom so much—because their love is a blessing every day of our lives.