Jo-Ann Mapson

My son Jack got married last Saturday. During the service he played a song he'd written on the guitar without messing up, and then he read the vows he'd written, such heartfelt words that Stewart nudged me and said, "He is his mother's son." It was one of those occasions when we stood in awe of the little fish that once nestled between my hips, and now stands close to six feet tall. I sat there remembering all sorts of things, like throwing up for months on end when I was pregnant, and how worried we were during his first couple years until his blood disorder was properly diagnosed. Once a lady in line at the post office came up to us and gave me the business because he had a black eye. I had to explain to her that my toddler bruised like a maniac due to his blood disorder, and that I loved him dearly. I remembered him learning to walk, as duck-footed as Chuck Berry, and how my little sister taught him to spit his food out, and the Christmas he lay beneath the tree advancing his Transformers toward the nativity set, and we were feeling all sentimental until we heard him whispering "Get baby Jesus" like some kind of three-year-old Terminator.

And then there were the decades he refused vegetables, the report cards of straight A's, the report cards of straight F's, the era of earrings and black nail polish, the sad times we could not talk to one another without a mediator in the room, and the year and a half he disappeared from our lives. Then came the day we stood in a parking lot as he introduced us to Olivia. She was as self-assured as Aretha singing "Think," and as pretty as a model. I like to think I knew she was the one even before he did.

The wedding was an excuse for a mini family reunion in Sacramento, California, where the temperature was an ungodly high eighty-something and my Alaska skin took on an Roswell kind of glow. My mom, who turns eighty this month, my little sister, who is the source of much of my writing material, and my little brother, the comedian, arrived first. At once we girls headed to "The Largest Antique Mall in California" so we could eye the old and talk about the new. My brother and Stewart went off to be fitted for their tuxes. Following the tux business, they got roped into helping decorate the reception hall. Periodically, my brother called us on our cell phone to inform us he'd gotten unfairly saddled with a "girl" chore. "Jo," he said. "It looks VERY BAD that you aren't here. This is your DUTY AS A MOTHER." I laughed, hung up, and he called back. "You owe me BIG TIME for this." Then he went for the gold. "Jo, there's golden writing material happening RIGHT NOW and you are MISSING EVERYTHING." I turned the phone off. My mom bought my sister and me lovely glass knickknacks and talked about her search for affordable antique oyster plates. I don't like oysters so I did not know such things existed, but man, oh, man, did I get her a pretty one on e-bay when I got home. My sister told us about two cowboys currently vying for her affections. I don't like cowboys either, unless they are characters in my books and I have control over what they say and do and how they treat women, horses, and dogs. But when CJ talks, I listen. Compared to her, my life is about as interesting as oatmeal. Halfway through "The Largest Antique Mall in California," our feet hurt and we sat down in the handy mid-mall café to drink Cherry Cokes and eat giant pretzels loaded with rock salt the size of aquarium gravel. All the while poor brother Johnny toiled over autumn leaves suspended in netting, straightened maroon tablecloths, and arranged calligraphy place cards. Personally I believe this endeavor contributed greatly to his character.

On the big day I let my little sister do my hair and makeup. Over the summer, while my friend Earlene Fowler (www.earlenefowler.com) and I were in Sisters, Oregon, I'd found a great MOG outfit: purple silk pants and a Chinese tunic. The saleslady was so excited when she learned this was my mother-of-the-groom's outfit that she threw in a hairpiece thing. Strangely enough, it matched my graying brown hair, and even better, it attached to a scrunchie-type-thing so I didn't have to work too hard to make it stay in place. It gave me a rather interesting new do, replete with long skinny braids, a hippie-with-taste flavor, if you know what I mean. My sister fiddled with that, sprayed me with "Rock Star hair spray" and loaded me up with that shiny eyeliner I haven't worn since the sixties. It got in my contacts so I had to wear my glasses, and in all the pictures I look like a brunette Anna Nicole who went to college. It's really time for a diet.

Because Livvy and Jack wanted me to speak during the ceremony, I had taken a "little something" to relax me, and managed to make it through without falling down the steps or swearing. Here's what I said:

Never and Always

Dear Jack and Olivia,

On this special day as you make your promises to each other, there are two words I want to mention, and ask you to remember. They are Never and Always. Strong words, especially when you make promises to one another, like, "I'll never stop loving you," and "I'll always be there for you." Strong words are tricky, and sometimes they can be turned to hurt. So indulge me one last time as your Mom, and allow me to give this gift to you, the one sure thing I've learned over twenty-eight years of marriage.

Never throw the word "never" around. It's a big one. If you start a sentence with "You never," what follows had better be a compliment, such as "You never let me down." The same goes for "always." When you feel the urge to say "You always," make yourself follow up with one of your spouse's most wonderful traits. If you start to say, "You always say you're going to," stop right there, and remember this day, when always and never became part of your mutual bond.

Remember, too, that your parents said these words about you. "I'll never stop loving this child," even though right now, I'm having a pretty hard time liking him. "She'll always be my little girl," even though she's standing up here dressed in a veil and promising her life to this young man.

I speak for everyone here when I say I hope you never forget the day you met, or the little things you can do to make each other feel treasured. Love is a big thing, but the best thing about it is its continual surprises. They're bigger than you know, but over time, you'll learn. I promise you that you will "never" cease to be amazed at its power to heal and bridge and be your sanctuary. I wish you two happiness, "always."

Love, Mom

The wedding was filled with tender moments, like Livvy reaching up to wipe Jack's brow, and her parents reading from her family history about great-grandparents who were separated for seven years, but never stopped loving each other. There was funny stuff, too, like Jack blowing out the wrong candle and Livvy giving him "that look" and him relighting it post-haste. At that moment I could see far down the road into their marriage. It was like getting a glimpse of the two of them on their fiftieth wedding anniversary and seeing that they were happy, that they had survived everything life had thrown at them and had fun along the way.

It's funny how the moments you wish would last forever, when you want to slow time down so you could relish each second, seem to move the fastest. The cake was cut, the candy hearts thrown, and suddenly they were driving away in a silver PT Cruiser decorated with ribbons and bows and a "Just Married" sign. My mother heart quivered, and if I hadn't been so tired I would have probably run after it, shouting Wait! You have to be my little blond-haired boy all over again. We need to ride the horses into the forest together. Go see E.T. for the first time. Snuggle with Max back when he was a nice puppy instead of an old grouch with dog breath. I need to do everything over again, and this time, get it right. Not be impatient with you. Tell you important things. Take time to listen instead of be in a hurry. Go on one more family vacation. Move to Europe instead of trying to make you, my wonderfully square peg, fit into the round hole of American high school. Maybe even throw up a few more times while you're still inside me, growing. Yes, I would do it all again. I would do it and get it right this time.

That night we had a family dinner at the Cattleman's Club, and everyone ate steak or ribs while I poked my salad around my plate and tried to decompress. My little sister (cowboy #2 in tow) asked me what it felt like to have my son married off, and everyone quieted to listen to what I'd say. I wouldn't want to do it over again, I said, but I think what I meant was just the opposite. We are too late wise, that much I know.

My little brother happily managed to escape the clean-up detail. Stewart and I were up early, paying way too much for a cab ride to the airport, where we wrangled first class upgrades for the long ride home. They make a slight difference, but let me tell you, if I ever got rich, the first thing I'd buy would be my own plane with nice reclining seats, real pillows with Egyptian cotton cases, a chenille blanket, and did I mention that dogs would be allowed to run up and down the aisle and could also sleep in your lap? It's true. On Jo-Ann Air, the flight attendants wouldn't run out of the chicken salad and stick you with the gross mystery meat sandwich and give you only one tiny mint the size of a Nestle's kiss for dessert. Nosirre. The chocolate would come in an endless supply, and it would be from Europe, and if you got tired of it then it would magically turn into Abba Zabbas or U-No bars or whatever you wanted. Can you tell I've read the Harry Potter books more than once?

Somewhere along the way, I caught the flu free of charge, and I fell asleep against my husband, who took pictures out the window of our beloved new state of Alaska. "Look, there's Denali," he said when I roused to pull my seat up in preparation for landing, but to me, a mom transforming to a mother-in-law, that was just another mountain.

Last night when the phone rang, it was my son, who is now a husband.

More later,
Jo-Ann

^Top