Chicken Soup for the Bride's Soul Read online

  They were M.I.A.

  En route to our reception, the Irish band we’d engaged had gotten stuck in the snow.

  Still, the reception went on. Certainly not as I planned. But it was even better. The brave people in our lives created unforgettable memories when they stepped up to sing their hearts out for us on our wedding day.

  Oh, yes, the Irish band did finally show up—a bit harried, but quite amused by the impromptu entertainment. In fact, everyone did a collaborative and uniquely spontaneous rendition of “My Way” before the band took the reins.

  And we all raised our glasses to the gift of the unexpected— to laughter, to song.

  Maryellen Heller

  Reprinted by permission of Bill Canty.

  Of Blue Jeans and Buttons

  Love cures people—both the ones who give it and the ones who receive it.

  Dr. Karl Menninger

  I’m a jeans and T-shirts kind of girl. Always have been. Born and raised in a small town back East, I loved riding four-wheelers and snowmobiles and hiking in the woods. Other than special occasions like school pictures or a wedding, you’d rarely find me in a dress. It just wasn’t my thing.

  But, like most girls, I dreamed of a fairy-tale wedding with my future husband and wearing that long white dress down the church aisle. Now I was about to live it.

  I was engaged to an incredible man who truly showed me a Cinderella life. I went from fast food and macaroni-and-cheese dinners to dining in five-star restaurants. I grew accustomed to fine wines and having my chair pulled out for me. Ward made me feel like a princess.

  But there was another reason I wanted to be that princess for him on our wedding day. Ward and I chose to remain pure until our wedding night. Both in our late thirties, this was quite a testimony to many of our friends.

  With the wedding approaching, I was hesitant to go dress shopping, as I knew I would feel out of place in the bridal shops with all the fancy silk and lace. Will they laugh at me? Will I look awkward?

  My fear fell aside when I stepped into the first dress. Lined with pearls and satin, it fit just right. I looked into the mirror and couldn’t believe how wonderful and special I felt. Why, I’m beautiful! I envisioned our wedding and couldn’t wait to walk down the aisle to Ward. I couldn’t wait to show him I was his princess.

  Indeed, our wedding day turned out to be a fairy tale. After the beautiful ceremony, we held our reception at a harbor where we ventured down the boardwalk with the photographer for black and white shots on the Ferris Wheel.

  It was a whirlwind day. Deliriously exhausted, Ward and I said goodbye to our friends and family for a sunset cruise along the coastline. As we sat in the limo on the way to our bed and breakfast, we anxiously awaited our wedding night.

  But there were other plans in store for us.

  Soon, the excitement of the day’s events came to a screeching halt. Reality bit hard. Sudden nausea overtook me; my chest felt tight and I was having trouble breathing.

  “I’m carsick! No! This can’t be happening!” I cried.

  In the midst of everything, I forgot that I shouldn’t ride backward in a car—and now it was too late. I felt awful. My husband suggested I put my head between my legs. I leaned down, folded in half like a chair. The weight of a long bridal train crammed my head and squeezed my bodice even tighter.

  “I can’t breathe. I think I’m going to be sick! Ward, please unzip my dress!” This was not how I envisioned our first night together. He graciously unzipped my dress, but it didn’t help.

  “You’re going to have to undo my bra, too.” My head, veil and all, was hanging out the car window.

  “Shall I pull over?” the driver politely offered.

  “No! Just get to the hotel . . . quickly.”

  When we arrived, the limo driver opened the door to . . . me, dress practically hanging off.

  After Ward graciously placed his jacket over my shoulders, I grabbed his hand to attempt to exit the limo. Suddenly everything went white and my legs gave out. Holding my dress with one hand, I clung to Ward’s neck with the other while he literally dragged me through the lobby. Pin drops could be heard as hotel guests stopped what they were doing to witness the “passed-out bride.”

  Sprawled on the bed in our room, I still felt nauseous.

  “Could you please get me some Mylanta?” I asked Ward. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No worries,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  I soon fell asleep and awoke feeling better. With Ward not back, I looked down to assess my condition. I still wanted this night to be romantic. Determinedly, I decided to put my dress back on.

  It had taken three bridesmaids to get the back buttoned earlier that day. How can I do this alone? Realizing the dress was not going back on, I slipped it off and put on Ward’s tuxedo jacket. I positioned myself on the bed in a sexy pose, waiting for his return.

  And promptly fell asleep.

  When I awoke, Ward was sitting on the bed next to me, Mylanta in hand. I sat up and downed a mouthful. Lying across his lap, I began to cry. He held me, comforted me.

  “I’m so sorry. I wanted to be beautiful for you.” Tears rolled down my face as I told him how much I wanted our first night together to be special.

  As we sat talking, I glanced up and saw myself in the mirror. There I was—in a wrinkled tuxedo jacket, veil cock-eyed, hair a mess and black mascara smearing my face.

  All the while, picking bobby pins out of my hair, Ward was telling me how I was his beautiful princess.

  Maria Nickless

  House to Home

  Snowflakes are one of nature’s most fragile things, but just look at what they can do when they stick together.

  Fay Seevers

  “Mike, you need to leave work right now. I can see your house on the news and it’s on fire.” My friend’s voice on the other line was filled with concern.

  This cannot be happening to us. This is not happening to us, I thought. I was getting married in four days and the reception would take place in the backyard of our home.

  I had met Lorena three years earlier and immediately developed a wonderful friendship. I soon knew my best friend was going to be my wife. A couple of years passed and after purchasing a home together, the conversation of getting married came up in passing.

  “We should just do it,” I impulsively suggested. Lucky for me, she agreed. With money tight, we planned a simple courthouse ceremony and a nice reception at our house. Little did we know our life plan would be turned upside down.

  The wildfire started on a nearby hillside. Although we heard different updates, the final outcome was not good. “Your house got hit pretty bad,” a friend informed me. I headed home from work as fast as I could.

  My fiancée and I drove up at the same time and we couldn’t believe our eyes. Why are all these people here? And the news media? I thought. The house doesn’t look that bad. The tall trees in the front yard hid our view.

  The short walk past the people and media was the longest of my life. Despite the chaos surrounding me, my world fell silent. There, barely standing, was our only possession— our future. The one thing we owned as a couple, the one thing that held our belongings and sheltered our lives. Totally destroyed.

  We hesitantly approached what was now walls and mortar and looked in the window to our bedroom. The entire roof had collapsed on our bed; embers and charcoal engulfed every surface; water-drenched belongings still dripped. Lorena’s eyes filled with tears. Why did this happen? I thought. We have no money and no house. I was numb.

  Bewildered, Lorena and I rummaged through the house. Suddenly, all I could think about was the wedding. Would Lorena still want to marry me? What if she wanted to postpone it or maybe even call it off? It dawned on me that, with time, the fire would be a mere memory. But if we didn’t get married, it would affect the rest of our lives. We’d lost our home; I didn’t want to lose Lorena, too.

  A reporter began interviewing me. I told him about our u
pcoming nuptials and admitted my apprehension of Lorena’s unwillingness to go through with it.

  Little did I know the same reporter approached my fiancée and told her I had mentioned we were getting married on Friday. Moved, she looked at the grinning reporter, smiled and started crying in relief. In the midst of our crumbling world, we each thought the same thing— we didn’t want to postpone our marriage.

  As the day’s mayhem settled, we were left alone to search our soaked, burned, broken belongings, looking for anything salvageable—including our wedding rings. By 3:00 A.M., hungry and heartbroken and with no rings in sight, we clung to a few salvaged photographs as if they were gold.

  The days to follow were surreal.

  We were bombarded by an outpouring of donations, support and kind wishes. Neighbors and strangers alike brought gifts, money, food and knickknacks. A local television station organized an on-air donation fund.

  Having always worked hard for what we had, it was difficult to accept money and gifts from strangers. But with everything gone, Lorena and I knew we had to set aside our pride and let others help. The simple act of a pizza delivery woman giving us a blanket from her car filled our hearts.

  And then the irony hit. In spite of our losses, we realized how lucky we were. Our newfound perspective left us thankful for community support and grateful to be alive and together.

  The wedding was scheduled for Friday. Although the media asked to attend, we wanted this special moment alone. My mom and the priest were the only people present. Having no idea of the week’s events, the priest commented that we seemed happy. After explaining why we were so emotional, he cried along with us.

  We were happy. Happy for a new beginning and happy to move forward without looking back.

  The day before the wedding, I received a call from the owner of a local café. George offered to host our reception at his restaurant after the wedding. Although it seemed a bit much, we accepted his offer to invite our closest friends and family for a small get-together.

  Once again, I was shocked and overwhelmed to see the crowd that awaited us. Outside the restaurant we found reporters, news anchors, firefighters, Chamber of Commerce representatives—well-wishers wanting to congratulate us.

  As reporters approached me, I thought, The real heroes are the firefighters. The real heroes are the community. I encouraged them to interview those who stepped up to the plate during a disastrous and wrenching time—the people who put their hearts first to help out a couple of strangers.

  Inside the restaurant, we were overwhelmed with love and cheers from friends and family. We discovered generous donations: a keyboardist, a wedding cake, a honeymoon train trip to Arizona and a limousine ride to a night’s stay at a local Hyatt.

  Just when we thought it couldn’t get any better, a stranger who noticed our party approached us. “Will you please accept this for your wife?” she asked. “It belonged to my grandmother.” The sweet woman slid a beautiful ring on Lorena’s finger and the three of us tearfully embraced.

  Now we see our tragedy as a blessing in disguise. God intervened during a difficult time and gave us a fresh start. Not only are we more stable financially, but we’ve been blessed with a closer, stronger relationship.

  Next, we plan to rebuild our house. After all, how could we leave a place filled with people who loved and supported us? More than ever, we look forward to the day that our house is our home again.

  Mike Zeballos

  Princess Bride

  Brooke was our little princess. She was spoiled not only by me but by her father and four older brothers as well. She was beautiful and intelligent, but also compassionate and loving. She never put herself first; she lived to make others happy. She made our souls sing.

  Brooke met Dan in her junior year of college. I loved her phone calls even more now. Her laughter and giggles when she talked about Dan made my heart smile.

  But when he graduated, Dan took a position two states away with an esteemed accounting firm. Over the next year Dan and Brooke kept in constant contact. I could tell my daughter was in love so I prayed nightly their hearts would remain strong and true, and would someday be united as one.

  Brooke graduated with honors and applied for several jobs near Dan’s home. It didn’t take her long to be offered one. Now they were not only close in heart, but also close in proximity as they shared day-to-day life. Two years passed before I got the phone call I dreamed of and prayed for.

  My princess was getting married!

  They set a date for the following summer. Since it was already January, we had a year and a half to prepare for this joyous occasion. Brooke and I began planning a fairy-tale wedding—the only kind fit for a princess.

  But on December 2, the fairy-tale world came crashing down. A simple yearly exam revealed horrifying news: Brooke had breast cancer and it was already quite advanced. We cried for hours.

  Why was this happening? Why Brooke? Why my baby? Why not me? I just didn’t understand. I was terrified, confused and angry all at the same time. But I soon brushed all my emotions aside to put Brooke first.

  I assured her we would beat this thing and life would go on as planned. She would grow old with Dan and the children they would one day have. I knew my princess would be okay. She had to. She was my baby and I would not say good-bye to her. After all, this wasn’t the way things were supposed to happen.

  But the doctors were honest from the beginning. They only gave Brooke a 20 percent chance of survival. Because of her cancer’s advanced stage, a regimen of drugs and chemotherapy began immediately.

  After only a month or so of treatment, the disease spread and my daughter got weaker. We knew Brooke had only a short time left. My heart was broken and beaten.

  Throughout, Dan remained strong. He was there for Brooke every step of the way. She had lost all of her hair, dropped so much weight she couldn’t even sit without help and could stay awake no longer than ten to twenty minutes at a time. Yet Dan was there to love and support her.

  One day, Dan asked for our blessing to marry Brooke before she passed away. He had loved her so long and only wanted one thing in his life: Brooke as his wife. Even if her days left on Earth were uncertain, he wanted them to be spent as a married couple.

  We knew she still dreamed of the fairy-tale wedding she would now never have. But we also knew she would not want Dan to marry her when they both knew she was dying. So, we decided the wedding would be a surprise. With help and cooperation from the hospital staff, Dan secretly arranged a lovely ceremony.

  When Brooke first realized what was happening, she strongly objected. But Dan explained the most important thing in his life was her. And all he wanted was her as his wife—be it for fifty years or for only a day. Brooke sobbed, but agreed. It was her dream, too.

  Dan brought a simple but beautiful white gown, delicate lace scarf and sheer veil to her hospital room. The nurses and I dressed the fragile bride, using the scarf to cover her smooth head and draping the veil gently over it. Even pale and broken, my princess daughter shined. This was her day, the day she had dreamed of and planned for.

  There was no elegant church as we’d once imagined. None of her family and friends were in attendance as we’d once hoped. But her beloved Dan was there, they were getting married and that was what mattered most. The two exchanged vows and a touching, sweet wedding kiss. It may not have been the fairy tale, but it was still a dream come true.

  Brooke spent sixteen days as the wife of the man she adored and loved. And it wasn’t until after she passed away that I found a letter tucked into her hospital nightstand.

  In it, Brooke wrote that she had only ever wanted to love, be loved and to matter to others. She expressed her gratitude for wonderful brothers and loving parents. The day Dan married her, she said, all her dreams came true. She had truly lived her life’s dream. Brooke felt her life was complete; she was neither afraid nor disappointed. And, compassionate to the end, she wished only that none of us had to suffer her l
oss.

  Today, we often see Dan and we love him as our son and Brooke’s husband. After all, he made our daughter a princess when she most deserved to be.

  Veneta Leonard

  Te Amo, Te Quiero, Cariña

  Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.

  Aristotle

  They met in the dawn of their childhood.

  As kids they would play man and wife.

  And they knew even then, before they were ten,

  They’d share the rest of their lives.

  They played in her tea-castle garden,

  ’Neath the shade of an old tamarind tree.

  In his poor Key West clothes, he gave her a rose

  And whispered these words tenderly:

  “Te amo, te quiero, cariña”

  He said as he whispered her name.

  “I love you, I want you my precious one.”

  These words set her heart all aflame.

  And they danced ’neath the stars to the sound of guitars,

  “Te amo, te quiero, cariña”

  In the noon of their lives they courted,

  No longer young children at play.

  And they spoke not a word, only heartbeats were heard,

  As they kneeled to worship and pray.

  They married in an old Spanish churchyard,

  ’Neath the shade of an old tamarind tree.

  In his best Key West clothes, he gave her a rose

  And whispered these words tenderly:

  “Te amo, te quiero, cariña”

  He said as he whispered her name.

  “I love you, I want you my precious one.”

  These words set her heart all aflame.

  And they danced ’neath the stars to the sound of guitars,

  “Te amo, te quiero, cariña”

  In the twilight of life she goes walking,

  To where their song was first sung.

  And she sees his sweet face in memory’s fond place,