I waddled into the hospital, full of child.

My belly extended beyond comfort. Labor pains took my breath away every time they gripped me. The pain would be my constant companion for many hours until my firstborn swam out of me and into the welcoming world. John was born December 30, 1985. It was a day I will never forget. It was one of the strong threads that make up the fabric of my life.

Now, another thread is being sewn.

Today, John will marry his beloved fiance, Kristen. His sister and twin brothers will stand at the altar with him, in honor and in celebration of this most momentous occasion. I have the joy and privilege to walk him down the aisle and hand him off to the journey that is his future with Kristen.

Love is the best medicine.

I’m not 100% healed from benzo withdrawal, but I’m healed enough to be able to enjoy John and Kristen’s wedding. I’m able to feel love. Happiness. Love is the best medicine, for any of our ailments. It makes light the burdens we carry.

I’m grateful I’m alive to witness this fine day.

A colicky baby, I used to rock John to sleep. I’d kiss his fuzzy head. Stroke his cheek. I’d bury my nose into the folds of his skin and breathe him in. I’d dream of the woman who would one day take my place as the woman he loved the most. Would she love him carefully? Tenderly? Odd thoughts, perhaps, to wonder about the far off future. But the future is here. today. I’m grateful I’m alive to witness John and Kristen give their lives to each other. The woman who is now the most important woman in John’s life is an amazing, wonderful woman! John is blessed. I hope Kristen feels blessed too.

Life goes on.

Withdrawal doesn’t last forever. Life begins to take on its old familiar feel and flavor, but in new and wonderful ways. You’ll see.


To John and Kristen, and to you.