In a few short hours, my beautiful daughter Julie will marry the love of her life in St Lucia. I wish I could be by her side, to help her into her dress, fasten her necklace, tell her how stunning she looks, hold her close, and then walk proudly with her to Frank, the man she’s always wanted to call her husband. Instead, I will gather with two of my closest friends around an ipad at 2 p.m. where we will join her via FaceTime to witness the ceremony. And for that, I am grateful.
Their story began 25 years ago on a residential street in Queens and as with many love stories that come full circle, it is a sweet one to tell even though there were parts along the way that were definitely not ‘sweet.’ The protective mother in me was more than relieved when Frank graduated high school at the end of her sophomore year and their often stormy courtship came to an end. Seemingly, the only residue from that time was on her wooden bed frame, where she had practiced writing her first name combined with his last name over and over again. Julie Wagner.
Julie always wanted to be in a relationship. It was of primary importance to her. I used to marvel, silently of course, how she was able to pick herself up when a relationship didn’t work out, tend to her wounds and move on – her psyche seemingly undamaged. This was an area where she and I were very different – I, who fled, terrified, from intimate relationships, was astounded by the relationship resiliency of my little girl.
Over the years, many young men (and I guess some older ones too) fell in love with my Jule. Of course they did. She is smart and funny, pretty and motivated, kind and generous. She could have married some of them, in fact, almost did marry one of them. I have the cancelled deposit checks to prove it. But something was never quite right. She just couldn’t bring herself to say, “I do.” She knew in her heart that it would be a mistake. And I admire her for having the courage to walk away from some of the guys who were crazy about her. (A couple might actually have been really crazy.)
Jule and I would joke with each other about the fact that she wished she could take elements of the various guys in her life and put them together to make the perfect one. Elements like this one’s sense of style, that one’s self-confidence, another one’s work ethic, still another’s kind acceptance of her…… Frank’s name would come up during these conversations too. She would say, wistfully, “Of course, I’ll always love Frank.” He hovered around the edge. Always. They were in touch. Occasionally. She’d tell me it was his birthday, or that she’d gotten a text from him on her birthday. Or if they were still together it would be their 7th or 12th or 15th anniversary of their first date. He may not have been officially in the picture, but he was always in her peripheral vision. I did not really take it seriously – their relationship had been quintessential adolescent drama as far as I was concerned.
I knew he was married. Knew he had a child. As I said – he did surface now and again. But then one day, Jule mentioned to me he had called her – something he wanted her opinion about related to a job offer. He was divorced. I was suspicious. Alarmed, even. I told myself, calm down – it’s just a phone call. He had a way of disappearing, and surely he’d disappear again. She called me again. He’d invited her to spend the weekend at his family’s summer place upstate. She was going. My heart stopped. This was serious. Twenty-five years ago, she had longed for such an invitation, and now it was being extended. I kept my tone light, “Have fun, love.” Inside I was fuming, “WHAT is she DOING??”
The weekend at the summer place was from all reports, magical. I could hear it in her voice – see it in her face. I wanted to shake her. “Jule,” I remember saying, trying to keep my voice even -- “When we had all those talks about the elements of the guys that would go into the perfect man, WHICH PART WAS FRANK??? Where was he in that equation?” I was desperate to protect her. She is my best friend. My munchkin. My Jewel. I love her fiercely.
She didn’t answer me right away. But a day or so later, she came to me and said she had an answer to my question –“It’s the way he makes me feel, mom. It’s how I feel when I am with him.”
I couldn’t argue with that. In that moment I understood what had kept her from falling in love with any of the others. Frank was the one she wanted all along. In her heart she knew that. Nobody could compete with him. All those elements that had gone into our collective fantasy of the perfect man -- that self-confident left arm of someone, the sense of style on the right leg of another… they didn’t matter at all. The fantasy man (or lack thereof) had kept her safe and single, waiting for Frank to come to his senses.
I was in the car with her – the place where we have some of our best conversations – when she told me that she was done – done with her search for Mr. Right. Done with the “find your right partner” handbook. Done with the memberships to ‘eharmony’ - done with speed dating.
It’s been not quite three years since that fate changing weekend upstate. There was a lot of work to be done. Adolescent air to be cleared. Years of on-again, off-again contact to be sorted through. One cynical mother to be convinced.
At a recent family dinner celebrating this soon-to-be union, I told him that he’d won me over, that I support her choice in marrying him. I’ve never seen her happier, or more content. I love how she looks at him and how he gazes back at her. He truly puts the sparkle in my Jule. Julie Wagner, that is. The circle completed.
