I started the morning with my usual crying jags in the shower and while blow drying my hair. Had to reapply the make-up only once. Changed my outfit about 3 times before settling on a silver sparkly top with black pants. Yes, pants. I was not in the mood to be girlie or to shave my legs.
My friends (check Mazel Tov posting) picked me up from Yorkdale and we drove out to Mississauga for the ceremony. It was an 11am mass at the local Polish Catholic church. I was waiting to burst into flames passing through the front door, as I haven't been to church since my cousin's wedding back in 2004. I managed to escape the wrath of God and found a seat in the third row.
I was surprised by how much I remember of what to do during mass. My friends who are Jewish were truly amused (or bemused?) by the pomp and circumstance surrounding Catholic mass. They were perplexed by where the organ music and vocalist were coming from (above and behind us in the balcony) and by the amount of getting up, sitting down and kneeling that was required. (Every week? Yes. Why? That's how Catholics get their exercise.)
Since it was a traditional mass, communion was served, er...performed. My mother was extremely devout, so as a kid, I was baptised and communion-ized. I was waffling on whether or not I should take communion as I do not believe in most of what the Catholic church proclaims to be the word of God. However, I erred on the side of caution and took communion.
Since my break-up, I have become extremely superstitious in partaking in whatever ritual is required by the particular faith. At my DT's wedding, I didn't have any of her cake. At my wedding, nothing traditional was included. And both of our marriages went into the toilet. So at the weddings I've attended this year, I've been especially careful to observe ALL traditions.
I made it through the ceremony tear free. We hit the receiving line early and then made a mad dash back to North York to hang for 4 hours. My friends kept me well fed with some traditional fish for Jewish New Year, and kept me very amused with reality programming on their 42" plasma wide screen TV. We also went through their wedding proofs and I helped pick out the keepers. All tear free. :)
We were fashionably late for the reception in Brampton, at a very fancy golf club. First stop was the hors d'oeuvres table and the bar. I started feeling like the third wheel. Whenever my girlfriend wanted to go to the bar, she would send her husband and she'd stay to "babysit" me. I think my face was getting sadder and sadder because they kept bringing me more and more alcohol.
Everyone at our table was coupled off, except for me. Even the two single guys at the table had arrived together and were seated together. I felt like the 9th wheel. As the evening progressed, I regressed more and more into myself. I just concentrated on taking lots of pictures while everyone else was participating in some lively conversation.
As dessert was served, the DJ announced the special father/daughter and mother/son dance was about to take place. I put down my fork and grabbed the camera to capture this special moment. Of course, this brought back memories of the fact that I did not have this traditional dance with my Dad because we never ended up having a proper reception. I could feel the tears starting to burn my eyes so I went back to the table and resumed eating my wonderful mocha cheesecake.
About half way through the song, the DJ asked everyone to join the family on the dance floor. My entire table set down their forks and got up to go to the dance floor. Everyone, except for me that is. Even the single guys had somehow managed to find a partner for this dance. It must have been via ESP because I certainly did not observe them asking anyone prior to that moment.
I looked around and pretty much everyone was on the dance floor. And boy could I feel those tears burning out my eyes. Now I really had to concentrate on eating my cheesecake. I was having an incredibly hard time swallowing the cheesecake because that damned lump in my throat was fighting very hard to come up.
When I thought I had everything under control, my friends came back to the table and asked me to dance with them. "No, that's okay. You guys go, have fun. I'm just eating my cheesecake." They insisted I go with them. "Come on, dance with us! We want you to dance with us!" Begrudgingly I obliged and set down my fork.
I took exactly three steps onto the dance floor and the lump in my throat won out. I broke out into hysterical tears. Thank goodness the music was really loud because I'm sure the sounds of my choking on my tears would have put a slight damper on everyone's evening.
I ran back to my table, with my friends close behind. I grabbed my napkin and buried my face in it. Of course, the song ended at that moment and the rest of my table were heading back to finish the rest of their cheesecake. I had to make a quick recovery before anyone noticed. I think I managed only to fool myself.
The rest of the night involved shots and dancing. And some crying in the bathroom. And a guy who kept asking me to dance, but he was short and I was upset. He got me a shot too.
At the end of the night, I went to the bride to say my goodbyes and of course, starting sobbing uncontrollably. I tried my best to keep it together for her, but in the end I couldn't.
A lot of my tears had to do with the fact that my friends are marrying good men. I married a bad man. I know my friends' new hubbies are going to treat them with respect and decency. My husband did not respect me one ounce. I know my friends are going to have long, happy and productive marriages. My marriage was short lived and produced nothing but heart ache.
Two down, one more to go. My brother's wedding in 2 weeks. We'll see how long it takes before the tears and the lumps win out.
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