Brother of the Bride
Last Sunday, I watched my
little sister walk down the aisle…
It was a
beautiful day…in every sense of the word.
But
it wasn’t easy...
…not even close.
Why,
you might ask? Well…let’s just say I’m still figuring it out.
All
I know is when the day first started, I wasn’t too sentimental. In fact, the
brunt of any emotional barrage came in the form of parental sympathy, knowing
they were just hours away from being official empty-nesters for the first time in
almost thirty years.
Yet, as I watched my sister’s eyes sparkle, glimmering in the joy of her perfect man, I started to melt.
For my little
sister wasn’t so little anymore.
Granted,
she’s probably the most mature 21 year-old you’ll ever meet…
…not to suggest I’m just now
noticing that.
Truth is: anyone who’s
ever known my sister understands the elegant chic and class she’s always
carried, not to mention her caring, compassionate core.
I
mean…seriously, it’s not every day an older brother can honestly look someone
in the face and say he looks up to his younger sister.
But
here I was doing just that: looking up and seeing this hilarious, adventurous,
fun-loving baby sister all grown-up, getting married as a dignified,
sophisticated woman…
…wondering, ‘Goodness gracious. Where did the time go?’
…
…as if I was logging some future
‘Father of the Bride’ practice in.
Needless to say, I was stunned…lost in an awkward dichotomy between numb and ecstatic.
And
so it came to pass that as everyone started busting moves on the reception dance
floor, I stepped out to breathe, looking to find a moment of silence I could
deposit my tears into.
Then
it hit me: This was the end of an era.
Not just for my parents, but for me...as a brother.
No
longer was I my father’s wingman on my sister’s ‘favorite men list’. No longer
was I her ‘step-in’ man of the house. No longer was I her ‘big’ brother.
I
was just an older brother with a different last name.
And
as I tried to process what felt like a melancholy tsunami, my mind started
lighting up like a midsummer electrical storm…flashbacks of memories…good and
bad…overwhelmed by thoughts of the better brother I could have been...wishing I
could have somehow begun my period of being a man worth looking up to at a
younger age.
You
talk about an impassioned deluge. I was
in it.
But ultimately, I remembered
my love for my sister. And slowly but surely, the waves started to subside…and the
once bittersweet symphony within started its decrescendo back to a
more jovial tune.
True, I wasn’t in the mood
for masquerading…
…yet, I couldn’t help but want to catch another glimpse of my sister walking
on cloud nine…
…lit up in a way I’d never seen before.
So as I walked back in and
rejoined the celebration, I applied the shudder to my photogenic memory and let
loose.
‘Cause in the end, I
realized: I love my sister… I love my family…and there’s no way I want to risk
forgetting any part of this night.
Thus, it was a fitting way to
embrace the start of a new era…
…recognizing that though times, names and roles change…
…the bonds of family grows…and becomes tighter and
stronger than ever.
And though my little sister
is now a not-so-little, married woman, I can be even more grateful to be in
this new season with her…
…whether it’s as a brother, a counselor, a fan or a
prayer partner…
…however it looks…it’s going to be good.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License.
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