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Authors: Jack Canfield
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wedding.”
The bridesmaid dress would cost only $30 dollars that way. Plus, I’d be set for my friend’s wedding, too. It made sense then. And the bridesmaid’s dress was beautiful.
But, now, as I laid out the green dress, I felt a twinge of sadness at not wearing white—the traditional symbol of purity I deserved and wanted to wear. Logically I told myself the color of my wedding dress wasn’t important.
Besides, I thought ruefully, few will be at the wedding anyway to see me in it, so why feel sad?
As I showered and dressed, my head argued that the green was all right, but my heart was unconvinced.
Glancing in the mirror, all I could see was a bridesmaid, not a bride. Sighing, I took a last look at the white Easter pumps I’d polished and started downstairs to the refrigerator for the nosegay of rosebuds to carry on my nursing Bible. Just then the phone rang.
“Child, I know it’s asking a big favor,” Sister Tabitha said in her heavy accent. “But word has spread through the ward about your wedding today. The patients want me to ask if you might visit in your gown before you go to the church.”
I glanced at the clock. I’d really be cutting it close. And in this green bridesmaid’s dress? Ugh! On the other hand, many of Three North’s patients were terminal and I really loved them.
“Of course, Sister,” I heard myself say. “I’ll be right there.”
I grabbed my purse and white Bible. Then I ran downstairs and got the yellow rosebuds. Once in the parking lot between the nurses’ residence and the hospital, I dodged puddles from an earlier afternoon shower. Gathering the yards of ankle-length green taffeta to my knees, I ran across the lot amid honking and cheering from passing motorists.
Short, plump Sister Tabitha met me when the elevator door opened. “Oh, you look so lovely! The patients need to see you,” she said. “So close to death, they need to feel a vital part of life that a wedding is. Now, don’t worry child, I’ll call a cab for you. Just tell me what time they should pick you up and I’ll be sure you’re downstairs then.”
She trotted beside me in her white starched habit as I went from room to room.
Trying not to worry about time, I went to each patient and chatted for a few seconds. I was amazed at how their eyes, dulled from the pain of terminal cancer, suddenly brightened when I swished through the door in taffeta and netting.
No one cared that the dress was green.
No one noticed it was intended for a bridesmaid.
Over and over they called me “such a beautiful bride” and asked me questions about my fiancé. As I told them about the wonderful man I was marrying, I felt my own eyes shine. Before I left, I hugged each fragile patient and kissed each feverish cheek.
And I walked away from Three North in my lovely— green—wedding gown.
Jeanne Hill
Holding It All Together
Because I was an accomplished seamstress, I decided to design and sew my own wedding gown.
Perusing pattern catalogs and fabric selections, I opted for a sleeveless dress of white crepe with a long-sleeved, full-length coat of lace. Meticulously, I figured out every last detail before cutting into the fabric. I did the sewing in spare moments between college classes, studying, working part-time and spending hours with my beloved fiancé.
In the 1970s, it was customary to sit for a bridal portrait in wedding finery several weeks before the wedding. This photograph would be sent to the local newspaper to appear in the society pages on the Sunday morning following the wedding.
But when the date for my appointment arrived, the lace coat of my wedding dress was still under construction, with only the bodice complete. The understanding photographer carefully framed only head-and-shoulder shots— to avoid including the ragged edges along the bottom of the lace bodice. No one looking at the portrait would ever know I wore only three-quarters of a wedding gown.
In the following weeks, the coat
The bridesmaid dress would cost only $30 dollars that way. Plus, I’d be set for my friend’s wedding, too. It made sense then. And the bridesmaid’s dress was beautiful.
But, now, as I laid out the green dress, I felt a twinge of sadness at not wearing white—the traditional symbol of purity I deserved and wanted to wear. Logically I told myself the color of my wedding dress wasn’t important.
Besides, I thought ruefully, few will be at the wedding anyway to see me in it, so why feel sad?
As I showered and dressed, my head argued that the green was all right, but my heart was unconvinced.
Glancing in the mirror, all I could see was a bridesmaid, not a bride. Sighing, I took a last look at the white Easter pumps I’d polished and started downstairs to the refrigerator for the nosegay of rosebuds to carry on my nursing Bible. Just then the phone rang.
“Child, I know it’s asking a big favor,” Sister Tabitha said in her heavy accent. “But word has spread through the ward about your wedding today. The patients want me to ask if you might visit in your gown before you go to the church.”
I glanced at the clock. I’d really be cutting it close. And in this green bridesmaid’s dress? Ugh! On the other hand, many of Three North’s patients were terminal and I really loved them.
“Of course, Sister,” I heard myself say. “I’ll be right there.”
I grabbed my purse and white Bible. Then I ran downstairs and got the yellow rosebuds. Once in the parking lot between the nurses’ residence and the hospital, I dodged puddles from an earlier afternoon shower. Gathering the yards of ankle-length green taffeta to my knees, I ran across the lot amid honking and cheering from passing motorists.
Short, plump Sister Tabitha met me when the elevator door opened. “Oh, you look so lovely! The patients need to see you,” she said. “So close to death, they need to feel a vital part of life that a wedding is. Now, don’t worry child, I’ll call a cab for you. Just tell me what time they should pick you up and I’ll be sure you’re downstairs then.”
She trotted beside me in her white starched habit as I went from room to room.
Trying not to worry about time, I went to each patient and chatted for a few seconds. I was amazed at how their eyes, dulled from the pain of terminal cancer, suddenly brightened when I swished through the door in taffeta and netting.
No one cared that the dress was green.
No one noticed it was intended for a bridesmaid.
Over and over they called me “such a beautiful bride” and asked me questions about my fiancé. As I told them about the wonderful man I was marrying, I felt my own eyes shine. Before I left, I hugged each fragile patient and kissed each feverish cheek.
And I walked away from Three North in my lovely— green—wedding gown.
Jeanne Hill
Holding It All Together
Because I was an accomplished seamstress, I decided to design and sew my own wedding gown.
Perusing pattern catalogs and fabric selections, I opted for a sleeveless dress of white crepe with a long-sleeved, full-length coat of lace. Meticulously, I figured out every last detail before cutting into the fabric. I did the sewing in spare moments between college classes, studying, working part-time and spending hours with my beloved fiancé.
In the 1970s, it was customary to sit for a bridal portrait in wedding finery several weeks before the wedding. This photograph would be sent to the local newspaper to appear in the society pages on the Sunday morning following the wedding.
But when the date for my appointment arrived, the lace coat of my wedding dress was still under construction, with only the bodice complete. The understanding photographer carefully framed only head-and-shoulder shots— to avoid including the ragged edges along the bottom of the lace bodice. No one looking at the portrait would ever know I wore only three-quarters of a wedding gown.
In the following weeks, the coat
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