What I didn’t tell you (or anyone) then about my wedding was that Mom was there. 

Though I did tell the DJ he needed to keep the music down so people could talk; weddings should be about connections and celebrating, not yelling across the table.  I also told him to sort the music by decade so everyone at my “later in life” wedding would hear music they could dance to.

I did encourage my 8-year-old stepson to ask someone to dance, just walk up to them and hold out your hand and offer “would you like to dance with me?”, which he subsequently practiced on every woman in the room.  And I did tell him the red clip-on tie looked best, but I can tell from the photos that he alternated between the blue and red clip-ons all day long.

I did tell my 6-year-old newly declared vegan stepdaughter that she could have more of the “These are ah-mazing!” lamb chops she waved at me in her little fist as she zoomed past in the reception room.

I did suggest to my free-spirited “I’m a divorce attorney, but I really want to be an artist” feather earring-wearing thirty-something stepdaughter to take my shawl before her strapless dress had a serious wardrobe malfunction.

I did promise my Dad I’d be on my best behavior (as long as she doesn’t start something) with his newly serious girlfriend, who was busy using my wedding to tell everyone that hers would be next.

I did compliment my new husband on how dapper he looked in his tux, even if it was the same one he always used for conducting concerts and tails really shouldn’t be at a morning wedding.

And I did nudge my stepson to also dance with the former actress who had starred with Elvis the moment the DJ started playing “Love Me Tender,” my parents’ wedding song.  My discrete way of reminding Dad that no one could replace Mom.

But I needn’t have worried; Mom is irreplaceable.  And Mom was there.

“Of course she was there,” you’ll say when I tell you; you’ll comfort me with “She’s always with you, loved ones never really leave us.”

Yes, I know.  But not today.  Not on my wedding day.  Nothing would keep her from missing that.  She was there.

What I didn’t tell you is how my stepson suddenly grabbed both of my hands on the dance floor, turned his face up towards mine and blurted out, “You were with your mother now your mother is with you.” And then whirled away.   The stepson who had never met the mother I’d lost three years prior. The mother whose hospital room I never left for 30 days straight while cancer ravaged her.  The stepson whose arm I now grab in shock, challenging him, “What did you say to me?”  The stepson, who with the pure innocence blessed to children, looks squarely at me again and repeats simply, “You were with your mother now your mother is with you” before waltzing away.

My stepson Gabriel, the messenger, told me.  And now I’m telling you.