On Sunday afternoon we crawled through the congested streets of Little Italy on our way to the wedding of Jenny and Vinay. We were dressed in our wedding finery- all silky and starched. We sat poised through the long traffic so as not to wrinkle our loveliness.
There were people everywhere, limousines double parked, tourists in their jeans and sneakers, and I watched them all with disdain.
My baby had been dead in my dream and it was a chill I could not shake. The crowds of people, the cars jammed together- even the shops and their gaudy trappings were a cold reminder of my needlessness.
We finally arrived at the Angel Oresanz Center for the wedding.
It was gothic and mysterious, moody and magnificent. The light inside was purple and the shadows were dark.
My girls were beautiful.
I managed not to get outright weepy until I saw the beautiful bride.
She was Rebecca's age when I first met her and now she was to be married.
To see Jenny, a girl I watched grow up, fall in love and become a bride was like receiving a post card from my ghostly future self.
Your day will come too. Your babies will grow up and move away.
I cried through the ceremony.
I cried for the love between Vinay and Jenny. I cried for Jenny's mother on seeing her own baby become a wife. And I cried for myself, for the agony and ecstasy which loving a child entails.
The night went on and the music began to play.
It was during the dancing that I finally received the post script from my future self, as I watched Lily dance with a much younger cousin.
Your babies will grow, your love will expand, and your heart will heal in the joy of watching your babies create new love.
You'll be fine, the postcard read, Now go dance...
And so I did.