On the weekend lloyd and I were given the chance to take pictures for the most beautiful wedding. There was a small cheap lattice work with plastic dollar store ivy stuck into it at odd angles in the corner. There were two matching vases of flowers on the floor, the same flowers I saw that morning as 2/20$ at the nearest grocery store. There were balloons to scantily hide the filthy tiny kitchen. There was tulle and twinkle lights to add a soft glow to the harsh reality of it all. There was a flurry of girlish excitement inside and the tense impatience outside.
"The bride is ready for you to take pictures now" We gathered our gear and timidly went inside. There was the bride in her wheelchair holding on to the maid of honour with all her strength. "I can't do it, it hurts too much." The moms and bridesmaids were trying to remember when she had used up the last pump of morphine wondering how long till the machine would dispense a much needed next dose.
We stood there catching each other's eyes. How do we take pictures of such suffering. Her girls are crying in the corner. Are we going to make a spectacle of this poor, yellow, frail, and dying woman?
Her mother noticed our awkwardness and told us to go ahead. So we did. She was groaning in pain. We didn't know where to start. A few pictures of her veil from behind. A picture of her hand clinging the maid of honour's hand for dear life. I wondered if she would make it through the ceremony. Maybe they should call it off?
They decided to go ahead and get the wedding started. The preacher was told that the short ceremony would have to be cut to the minimum and I moved out to let the family get close to her.
I wondered what the groom would see when he came in to see his bride. Would he see the woman he once fell in love with or would he be broken by the contrast of her yellow skin stretching across her bones and her eyes drugged and out of it? Would images of Miss Havisham be in his mind?
With these thoughts I waited anxiously to watch him come in after all the guests had arrived. (So much about this wedding was backwards) He came around the corner with an unreadable expression. Mostly embarrassed at everyone looking at him, I'm sure.
Unsatisfied, I turned to look back at her and some sort of miraculous transformation had happened. As the preacher took up his notes and they took each other's hands, she was smiling the largest smile I have seen since I met her. Her eyes were alert and she was full of contentment, happiness, and in that moment.... beauty.
He was proud to have a wife and to be married to the mother of his two children. She was proud to be married to a man strong enough to love her well enough to take her older two children after she passed away.
There was a quiet intimacy and a clinging to each other to the end. There was a soft glow around them that was more than the tulle and twinkle lights could have made.
There was joy.
