On this day 1/4 of a century ago, I was a little pregnant and a whole lot overwhelmed for I was committing to a man that I did not love, wearing a dress not of my choosing and marrying in the very same synagogue where I had lost my faith years before.
There was that moment.
That one perfect moment just after those enormous wooden double doors of the sanctuary opened and I began my slow walk down the long red carpeted aisle, when I heard a collective gasp from the crowd, and for those few fleeting seconds I felt like a real Princess Bride.
Then it was my parents turn to march. They walked down the aisle to meet me halfway where we would walk a trois together towards the Beemah.
As I reached out to hold their hands, I tripped and all of my princess beauty collapsed into a heap in the middle of that red carpeted aisle, my true self exposed for all to see.
Of course, there was the matter of the groom. And even though it ended with vitriol and violence, it was worth it all for those few glorious seconds where I actually felt in the deepest down part of me, that I was finally being seen as the Radiant Self I so longed to be.