A Mother's Intuition (Part Two)

When Em and Ry were    ” just  college friends”  who had returned to their homes for the summer, Ry, an EMT, would occasionally show up in my driveway in an ambulance – between calls. He lived 30 minutes away, but the company he worked for covered our neighborhood.  Once he visited Em in the middle of the night. My middle. Not theirs.  For college students, the night is still young at 2 AM.

No siren was involved, but I woke up to a revolving red light flashing through my bedroom window.  When I looked through the pane I could see them kibitzing, along with his shift partner.  The next morning, a few of my neighbors looked as if they were surprised to see me up and about..

Anyways. . . the following school year, Em went to Washington D.C to study. It was the stay - in - the - USA version of  a semester abroad. She surprised me when,  less than ten days after her departure, she asked to fly home for the weekend. Was she homesick? Not  quite. More likely lovesick, but too close to the malaise to figure out the symptoms. What she had figured out  was - if she flew home Friday afternoon, we could hop in the car and head to the Stonehill  campus in time to see  Ry , the backstage guy, perform his first role on the Stonehill Theatre stage.

The plane  from D.C. landed on time. As we headed northeast the Mass Pike traffic moved right along to 495S – a minor miracle at the start of a weekend.  We arrived and took our seats (no surprising  before the show!) just in time to see Ry’s debut – a success for us, offstage, and for him, on.

 As Mommy-of-his--greatest-fan, I gave Ry even stronger reviews for his extemporaneous performance after the show. He spotted me first. Looked  downright confused. Then  turned to the sound of Em’s voice as she uttered, “Surprise.” Then came the hug. I’m not sure I would have thought Em’s two-legged trip – in the air and on the Pike—would have been worth the trouble if he stopped at a hug. But he didn’t. Almost as  if the move had been rehearsed, he grabbed her around the waist, picked her up, and gave her a little spin  the way Gene Kelly might lift Judy Garland in For Me and My Gal.  Coming attractions, I thought, to the sequel of this story. 

On Second Thought

Emily’s father would have been 62 today.  He would have relished planning his daughter’s wedding.

Larry liked details. He was very involved in the nitty-gritty of our wedding in 1980. Not that our wedding was much of a production, as compared to new millennium weddings that require two years in advance  bookings, save-the-date announcements, multi-gift-registries,and the support of websites like www.theknot.com.

Even so, Larry added his share of touches to our day. 

The RX-7 touch in 1980

•  His idea: no limo. My dad drove me to the church which, after the "I do-s,"  freed up the bride and groom to drive off in our snazzy ‘78 Mazda RX-7.

• His idea: a venue where we’d  see golfers through the club's reception hall windows, as they putted out on the 18^th green. 
• His idea: a post-party photo at that 18^th hole – me holding the flagged pin as he tapped out!  

Larry wasn’t a “you decide honey, it’s your big day” kind of guy.  Dotting the “i” in wedding -- a wedding that fit us perfectly – was a mutual task.

Interestingly, my daughter's fiancé  Ryan has very much involved himself in the details of his and Em’s big day too.  He cares that the color scheme (including his tux) will blend with the season, that the size, shape, and arrangement of the tables will encourage convivial visiting and lots of dancing, that the buffet will sate the most hearty and most health-conscious  diners. I think his physician’s assistant training now, along with his earlier EMT and firefighting training, contributes to him being so detail oriented. A PA must diagnose symptom by symptom; a firefighter must analyze the nature of the blaze.

The mention of firefighters reminds me of a story that begs repeating - especially today. Three years ago, when Em was caught between a rock and a hard place over a number of decisions about her future – one question overshadowed the rest:  Is Ry the one?  Through December of that year she attempted to weigh emotions that were difficult to apply an "err-tight" rationale to. 

Ry the fire-guy

 On one particular afternoon drive, alone in her car in the throes of thought, she felt the need to pull over to the side of the road. Still, behind the steering wheel, she wished she could be sure about what to do. And she wished her father was alive to help her. Before a third wish could pop into her head she was interrupted by the sound of a siren followed by a honk. The long, loud honk blared again as a red fire truck came into view, its crew on its way to a conflagration.

When Em could think straight again – for who can  keep a  train of thought when a fire engine rushes by – the question she had been pondering was followed by an answer:  Ry – the fire guy – is certainly the one. By the time New Year's Eve turned to New Year's Day, a few weeks later, Em and Ry were a couple.

Did I say that Larry wasn’t around to plan Em’s wedding?
 I stand corrected.