The first time I got married I invited a family friend and her son to the wedding. I had never had an issue with her. I was friends with her son in middle school, but then I moved away and we became estranged. He went into the Navy, and I got married.
I soon realized that inviting them was a mistake. My mother was not able to make it due to her illness and very few people knew who my mom was. It was afterwards that I found out that this family friend had told people that she was my mother. I wrote her a letter burning the bridge of friendship. I didn’t want to hear her side. I just didn’t want her in my life.
Almost ten years passed by and her son committed suicide. I found out and reached out to her for a bit to show my sympathy. The bridge was still down, and out of order, but the mending had started.
I didn’t see her for another few years. I returned home for the holidays and she came to my family’s holiday gathering. We continued to mend the bridge.
It wasn’t till I got divorced that she and I started to really talk to each other. She would message me; although some in my family didn’t approve of my divorce she was there to make sure I was doing OK.
When I got married again, I invited her, somewhat reluctantly. She came and was so happy to be invited. She wore her Renaissance dress and fit the theme so well. Later she messaged me and said, “I hope I didn’t embarrass you or mess anything up. It was great to see you and I’m so happy I was part of your big day. I love you.” I didn’t respond, just heart-ed the message. She hadn’t messed up, and my heart hurt because my ego put those expectations on her.
She passed away recently, and I never got to fully mend that bridge that we burned. But I think it was mended enough to at least cross before she left this world.
I love you too SHE.
~Candice Carver
