Ann Ferro: The bittersweet joy of it all

There was a post on Facebook this morning about a mother speaking about holding her very tired five year old and thinking about how time changes everything. “Will this be the last time I can hold him like this? When will he be “too big”? she muses. Her message: Savor the moments big and little, as road maps back to images that disappear from the now into the past.
I remember the day we brought our newborn son, Ben, home from the hospital. It was the closest I’ve ever come to that state as described by psychologists, self actualization. I held him closely, his 8 lb 1 oz body snugged in a yellow blanket that my sister gave me as we, a brand new family, traveled from Community General to our house on First Street. The world had changed.
Where were the crowds of people waiting to see him? I was that besotted with this child and my role as mother. Shouldn’t there be a band to celebrate this new life?
And the years rolled by in play and study and going away to college and finally to Rochester to work. Ir was a world of games and report cards and band and school shows and biddy basketball and ski trips and sailing and trips to Italy and Ireland to sing and a month in New York with Mark Burnett, new jobs and so many friends. He grew in height and knowledge and retained a kindness and caring that made us so proud.
He was, our son and his own person.
He brought young women home to meet us from time to time , but … he was the perennial bachelor. Too much fun. Too many roads and ideas to explore.
His younger sister, whom he loved from the moment of her birth, married and gave us two grandsons, two nephews for Uncle Ben.
They idolized him.
Children and animals gravitated to our Ben. We always thought that Ben would make a great father. But first, because we are “old fashioned”, first there is marriage.
Was it two years ago that he brought Emily May home to spend Christmas with us? She was lovely, accomplished, sweet and very much in love with our son. So, how could we not adore her?
Pictures appeared on Facebook and Instagram with Ben and his Emily. Lots of pictures.
It was on a weeknight that Ben called and asked what I was doing. I ran down the list of my activities and I asked what was new with him.
“I got engaged tonight!” So typical. My response? “I hope it is Emily.”
We were thrilled.
The plans began. The wedding would take place in Freehold New Jersey so that the bride’s 95 year old grandmother could attend. What a testament to the type of woman my son would marry.
What does a mother of the groom do? There were uncertainties. Would I be able to do justice to this so important part of my son’s life? Would my somewhat challenging health interfere? Can you dance with a cane?
The extravagance of three new dresses were retail prayers that all would work out.
And it did.
My handsome son, the same one that I brought home on that Thursday so many years ago, a lot taller than 22inches, married the love of his life, Emily May Weiss on May 26, 2019 at the American Hotel in Freehold, N. J. at 5 p.m., surrounded by family and friends.
His sister’s sons, his nephews, celebrated as 8 and 10 year olds do with riotous dancing and fun. His parents and the parents of the bride celebrated the creation of a new family, one that is both nuclear, as the newlyweds provide each other with the comfort and support of their new life together and a larger family bridging miles and histories. A newly built edifice of strength.
We were asked to write something, some advice for the newlyweds and all I could think of was to cherish the moments, the scraps of time and ephemera that make up a life. The big things, you will remember. It’s those little things that are easily forgotten that are the best.
I have my memories, the crumbling pieces of artwork, newspaper clippings, photos of our lives as mother and son, snippets of moments that flash into mind, that are as real as they once were and are also irretrievable save as they prompt us to remember and share those memories.
So, to my son and his bride…the circle turns and it is your time to collect those firsts and lasts, the in-betweens and the bittersweet joy of it all.