Recently I've been sucked into watching the ABC reality show "The Bachelor." The premise of the ABC show is that an eligible bachelor is woed by dozens of gorgeous girls who only have a short amount of time to gain his attention, competing with other girls who all live in the same house. Their grand prize for gaining his favor -- a bling bling engagement ring.
With each passing week, I stand amazed at how fast these incredible women fall for this man. Their deepest desires for marriage, children and security surface as the process of elimination intensifies. In the final phases of the "love race," the women bring the bachelor home for their mother's, father's and siblings to give him the third degree.
This is where the pain lies in knowing that many brides don't have that luxury. Many brides have only a partial family to bring their groom home to and to attempt to describe to him what their loved one "would have" said or "could have" done to make him feel at home, to add a maternal touch to wedding madness.
Most mother-of-the bride books agree that the title "mother of the bride" has far more to do with a list of responsibilities than a title. On the day of the wedding, although there may be a missing spot for where the mother of the bride may stand, it is in the period leading up to that day, many motherless brides feel the practical void of responsibilities a mother would normally fulfill.
Some fear having to explain themselves and prefer to plan much of the wedding themselves. To move this experience into the realm of reality, I'll close with the story of one bride, for anonymity sake we'll call her Candice, who reflects on dealing with loss through her wedding experience.
I felt a pang of loss when my husband and I were picking out our china. He was one of the only men there, and every other bride was with her mother. And my family table was sparse because she wasn’t there. It was hard to face that because both parents were gone, not only would they both not see me get married, but my dad wouldn’t be able to walk me down the aisle. I made a point of walking it myself, picking up my maternal grandfather – who walked with a cane – at the first couple pews. I didn’t want anyone else to stand in, I wanted all or nothing, and to show I was independent.
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