I thought of Shani walking down to her chuppah with two loving parents at her side, and the tears came

Prologue

T

he sun was barely up but there was no way I was staying in bed for another minute. As it was, I hardly slept all night. I quietly made my way downstairs to relish the quiet before the onslaught of the day.

My daughter, my oldest child Shani, named for my mother, would be getting married today.

I burrowed my feet into my soft slippers and hugged my robe tightly around me as I made myself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. I just couldn’t believe it. It was amazing how 20 years had gone by in the blink of an eye. My little girl, a kallah, walking down to the chuppah — it seemed surreal. It was only yesterday that I walked down to my own chuppah.

But how grateful I am for the circumstances that will be surrounding my daughter on this day, so different from my own wedding day.

I promised myself that I wouldn’t go there. But it was futile to keep the memories away. If I don’t indulge for a few moments, the memories will spend the day trying to catch my attention.