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to do, many things to keep my mind occupied, but this overwhelming feeling of dread filled every minute. My powers of denial were no longer working, and the bad feeling in the pit of my stomach was growing with intensity. By the time we got to the rehearsal, I was a mess. The mood was jovial as family members greeted one another and everyone congratulated Michael and me. But all I could think about was the next day’s wedding and how the bride wore … what? Whatever I could find on the rack at Dress Barn? Because in my mind, there was no way that gown was going to fit.
    The rehearsal dinner provided a warm and relaxed atmosphere, except in my mind. I didn’t touch the prime rib, finally finding whatever it took to refrain from stuffing my face. Too bad that didn’t happen three months earlier! The rising panic had made it past the pit of my stomach and was sitting in my throat like hot bile I couldn’t swallow away. Michael kissed meand fed me a piece of the chocolate groom’s cake to everyone’s applause. I wanted to vomit, my fear was so palpable.
    I wished Michael a goodnight as he set out to be with his friends, and my girlfriends gathered at the hotel where the reception would be held. We were debating exactly how to spend my last hours as a free woman, when I made up an excuse to go see my mother. I couldn’t bring myself to admit to these friends that I had to go figure out what to wear to my wedding the next day; I was too ashamed and embarrassed to admit my failures, even to my closest girlfriends. I don’t even remember what I told them, but the next thing I knew, I was on my parents’ doorstep at midnight.
    “Moooom,” I couldn’t even get her name out when she opened the door. I sobbed as she hugged me, and like always, she worked her magic. “It’s the dress, isn’t it?” Of course she knew. She was Mom, and she knew me well. I was crying too hard to answer her, so I just nodded, and she took my hand, leading me to my old bedroom.
    The dress hung on the back of the closet door. My mom had steamed it and poofed it, making it all ready for me to wear. Through tears I stripped down and waited for her to bring it to me. In silence I stepped into the dress, and she slowly shimmied the fabric up to my waist. We both held our breath.
    It didn’t fit.
    She couldn’t even get the zipper halfway up. As the reality hit us, a strange calm fell over me. So this was it. I had feared this for so many weeks, and at least now I knew: I couldn’t fit into my wedding dress. It was almost a relief to let go of the unknown.
    While I was imagining what I would say in the hundreds of phone calls I had to make to cancel the wedding, my momwas busy looking at the side panels of the dress. “I think I can let it out,” she said quietly, studying the fabric. My breath caught. Had I heard her correctly? Of course I had. This was my mother; she fixed everything! I felt relief wash over my body as she pulled, tucked, examined, and decided what had to be done. I hugged her so tightly and thanked her profusely. She gave me a tired smile, and I couldn’t help but note the bit of sadness in her eyes. She sent me off to have a good night’s sleep so that I would be beautiful the next day. She would stay up half the night to make it all okay.
    I left her house and went straight to the drive-thru.
    Some things never change.
    The dress did fit the next day, Mom made sure of that. But I was terribly self-conscious about it. You would be hard-pressed to find a photo that does not have me clutching my large bouquet in front of my midsection. I used those flowers as a shield, trying to protect prying eyes from seeing what was happening to me, to my body. When I think back to our wedding, I should be filled with warm memories of dreams finally becoming a reality. Instead all I can recall is heaps of tension, mounds of stress, and tremendous relief that I was at least able to go through with it, that I did not have to cancel my