Have you ever read a newspaper clipping with wedding and bridal shower columns from decades past? Somewhere in the 1950’s, the newspaper covered every detail of weddings and bridal showers. When I read the column describing my parents’ wedding, I fell in love with this style of news reporting. It reminded me of times when things were simpler and folks appreciated the tiny details of life.
I also became appreciative. By the time I was getting remarried, both of my parents had a new address in Heaven. I had to find some way to incorporate them into our wedding, even if I was the only one who knew how they’d be honored. I did the expected mention in the wedding bulletin. A framed wedding photo adorned the table alongside the guest book.
I longed for a more intimate way to include them and when examining the clipping that beautifully described their wedding, I found the way.
The brides carried cream roses
In elegant detail, my parents’ wedding played out on the wrinkled page. Even though the actual pictures were in black and white, I could envision it perfectly, in living color. I could see my young Mom, just barely 19, sheepishly making her way down the aisle to meet her beloved groom, my Dad. They were so young, so in love, and had all their hopes and dreams ahead of them to live into reality.
My answer: Cream roses. I would carry cream roses in my bouquet, I decided. The season was late autumn and the ability to find cream roses eluded me. I felt defeat as I conceded that I would not indeed carry cream roses like Mom had in her wedding, 56 years earlier.
Wedding plans continued and white roses with peach to accent were ordered and I decided to put the cream rose dream out of my head. What choice did I really have anyhow?
“White gladioli and snapdragons decorated the church…spring flowers and tall tapers of crystal candelabra decorated the [reception] tables.”
My parents’ wedding had been divine and the cream roses, so simple like my mother: elegant and a little extravagant, yet innocent and unassuming. But I couldn’t control the floral market in mid November so I awaited the white and peach-colored roses. They would do nicely and I would adorn my bouquet with a gold starfish broach that had belonged to my mother. Though it wasn’t something she acquired until later in life and wasn’t in any way related to my parents’ wedding or love story, it belonged to my Mom and in that way, was incredibly cherished.
Wedding plans became busier by the day and “thee day” itself was quickly approaching. Being the frugal bride, I had ordered flowers to be delivered fresh and a relative and I would arrange them the way we saw fit into bouquets, corsages, and boutonnieres.
The delivery man arrived. The boxes were large. I was excited.
Cream roses, 56 years later…
Even though my cream rose dream wasn’t to be, I was excited to see the bounty of roses that would be my signature wedding flower. Alone in my kitchen I stood, gently opening the boxes first to reveal a few dozen pale and darker peach roses. Beautiful. I was satisfied thus far.
The remaining box would be the white roses and they would be lovely. They would match my white dress and what was I thinking anyhow? Cream roses? White dress? Surely Miss Manners would disagree. (But I hadn’t cared. I would have paid double for cream roses just to have that piece of my parents’ past with me as I walked down the aisle to begin anew).
I pried open the final box. I stepped back. Tears flowed. My Father had loved me so much that He had made sure I had what I needed to feel comforted, blessed, and in touch with my parents on my wedding day. When I opened the box…very not-white, cream roses.
God Cares About What We Care About
