I've never cried at a wedding before, and I've been to lots of weddings. Most of them were the weddings of my many cousins. So why didn't I cry? Well, it's hard to say. I'm not very close to any of my cousins because they are all quite a bit older than me and live far away, so I don't see them very often. Also, there was nothing very special about any of their weddings. Oh, I mean I'm sure it was special for them, but as far as weddings go they were all pretty typical: young lovely bride dressed in an elaborate white dress, groom dressed in a tuxedo and sweating nervously, hundreds of family and friends looking on, long boring speeches, and a big dance to follow. This wedding, however, was different. It was special. It was different. It was beautiful. I cried.
The bride, Helen, was someone quite close to me.
While, like my cousins, she doesn't live in the same city as me, I visit her quite regularly. We never really had much in common, however, until she got herself a boyfriend. I have had a boyfriend for some time, but none of my other girl friends even seem interested in romance, so when Helen and I would get together, I would ask her how "Dreamy Alfred" was and she would ask me how "Dreamy Adam" was, and then we would discuss the men in our lives. Helen, if you haven't guessed by now, is my Grandmother.
Helen's first wedding was actually a double wedding. Her and her sister married two men who were brothers. Later, her younger sister would marry the third brother. I guess this is the kind of thing that went on in rural communities. Helen, and her first husband (my grandfather),