"Sarah! Come on. It's time to go. We're late." It was November 14, 1998, and it was our oldest daughter Sarah's wedding day. Well, at least, it was supposed to be her wedding day. We couldn't seem to get her ready and out the door. We had started early, too. We had a number of people staying at our house including all the bridesmaids and our friends from Maryland. There were eight women, all needing showers. I asked for volunteers willing to shower on Friday night and then limited the Saturday morning showers to five minutes each. Next, Angelique started doing the bridesmaids' hair. Angelique was the daughter of my good friend, Mercedes, from Santa Barbara. Mercedes and I had met when Angelique was only three years old. How had we gotten from there to here already?
Angelique was in my class at nursery school while her mom worked. Paul and I were newlyweds and often took care of Angelique during the evenings when Mercedes had a late shift. We all got fairly close. When our first daughter was born, we named her Sarah Angelique. I can still see Sarah sleeping in the bassinet that Mercedes loaned us. Sarah's name means "Princess" and we certainly treated her like one. She was the first grandchild on both sides of our family. Everything she did was amazing and extraordinary. So, if she wanted to keep us all waiting on her wedding day, I guess I shouldn't be surprised.
Angelique was working hard and fast. After each bridesmaid had her hair done, she moved over to Roz, Sarah's maid of honor, who was doing their make-up. We were saving Sarah for last. Angelique did Sarah's hair, then her make-up, then gave Sarah her wedding jewelry. Angelique had hand-made the jewelry just for Sarah and it was beautiful. It was a set with a necklace and matching earrings of silver teardrops. Finally, it was time to leave for the church. There was one problem, however. Sarah was gorgeous from the neck up and naked from the neck down. It took three of us to get her into her special bra and old fashioned hose. (We all lacked experience with garters.) "We're supposed to be getting pictures taken right now," I said. I was beginning to panic. Sarah had always had a mind of her own and operated on her own time schedule.
I remember when she was four years old. She had been outside playing on our jungle gym. She marched in and announced to me "I just asked Jesus into my heart." No fanfare, no discussion, no adult assistance. She had made up her mind and acted on it. We went on a family vacation when she was thirteen. We visited relatives in Washington and then came back to Oregon to stay with our good friends there. Sarah didn't really want to be on vacation with us at all, but we made her visit the relatives and spend a day or two in Oregon. Then, all by herself, she took the train back to Santa Barbara where her Nana and Papa were waiting for her. It was a twenty-seven hour trip. I don't think I would have considered letting either of our other two daughters make such a trip at that age. Then came the day we learned we would be moving to Paso Robles. Sarah was seventeen and a senior in high school. We would be moving at the end of the school year. "I won't be going with you to that hick town," she told us. And she didn't. Not until a year and a half later, her choice, and on her own time schedule.
"Everybody, into the cars. We have got to go now!" I was starting to sound like a drill sergeant but at least people began to move. Slowly, cars pulled out of our driveway and headed for the church, twenty minutes away. We had to skip the pictures scheduled to be taken before the wedding. Things moved quickly after that. Sarah was in her dress, Mercedes put on the veil that she had made for her, and we were lining up in the hallway. My handsome husband escorted me to my seat and then I proudly watched Melissa and Jenny, my other two daughters and both bridesmaids, come down the aisle. And then there stood Sarah and her daddy. This independent, strong-willed woman now clung to her father's arm and cried. The wedding was over before we knew it, just like Sarah's childhood - long anticipated, then gone in a flash.
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