A bride believed that she would have to walk down the aisle without her father if she lost him.
Then her older brother, who has Down syndrome, discreetly offered to replace him. Everyone thought it was a great idea, but her future mother-in-law objected, so the bride changed the wedding in private.
I was asked by my brother if he could take over for Dad.
After an hour of sitting in the kitchen, he continued to start and end phrases.
When something is important to him, Nathan acts in that way.
After glancing at the table and rubbing his thumb on the side of his mug three times, he will say, “So…”
before deciding that perhaps the matter can wait.
It couldn’t that evening.
“Can I do Dad’s job? At the wedding.”
I assumed he meant distributing programs.
“What job?” I inquired.
He gave me the impression that I was purposefully moving slowly.
“I mean walking you,” he said. “Down the middle part.”
the aisle.
Dad had been gone for eleven months.
Nathan is thirty-one. He and Dad were inseparable, and he has Down syndrome.
In the garage on Saturdays.
The same cup of coffee.
They were the only ones who laughed at the same awful jokes.
The majority of Nathan’s time used to be spent with Dad.
Nathan learned from Dad how to make grilled cheese without scorching the pan, sharpen garden equipment, and change the oil.
Nathan, meantime, showed Dad the value of not taking himself too seriously.
There was a silence in both of us after Dad passed away.
I hadn’t allowed myself to consider who would accompany me to the rear of that church for eleven months since each response was incorrect.
Patrick, uncle?
Too clear.
Mother?
Before we got to the first pew, she would start crying.
Strolling by yourself?
It is feasible.
However, I noticed who was missing at the end of each version.
Nathan then inquired.
I covered my lips with my hand.
He held out.
“Sarah?”
Speaking had not yet begun, so I nodded.
“Yes.”
His entire expression transformed.
“Yes?” he asked again.
“Yes, Nathan.”
His chair scraped the floor as he stood up so fast.
Then he gave me a painful hug.
“I won’t go too fast.”
I chuckled into his shoulder.
“Good.”
“I practiced with Dad before.”
I withdrew.
“What?”
“For your wedding.”
“You practiced with Dad?”
Nathan shrugged as if this was clear.
“A long time ago.”
It seems that years ago, Dad had made a joke about Nathan having to make sure he didn’t trip over his own feet while walking behind us when I got married.
I broke down in tears once more.
Nathan appeared concerned.
He questioned, “Did I say it wrong?”
“No.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because apparently that’s what brides do.”
He acknowledged that.
That same week, Nathan began to practice.
Later, my uncle told me.
Nathan was counting the steps as he walked the upstairs corridor with his arm extended and nothing in his hands.
One, two, and three.
Take a moment.
Take a turn.
Once more.
However, it seems that he needed more than just at-home practice.
Without notifying any of us, he called the church and asked the priest what he should do when we arrived at the front.
After that, Father Michael gave me a call.
“Your brother is taking this very seriously.”
“I know.”
“He asked whether he bows before or after giving you away.”
I chuckled.
“What did you tell him?”
“That nobody is giving you away.”
Nathan seemed to object.
“Dad said that’s what it’s called.”
Father Michael made a compromise as a result.
He revealed the ultimate strategy to me.
Nathan would lead me over to Daniel, give him a hug, shake his hand, and then take a seat next to Mom.
Nathan jotted down the order.
He also worked on that.
He used the same two words every time someone raised a question.
“I practiced.”
Mom was concerned that the crowd may overwhelm him.
“I practiced.”
Uncle Patrick was concerned that his timing would be affected by the music.
“I practiced.”
In case he didn’t know where to sit, Daniel asked if he wanted someone to sit next to him.
Nathan scowled.
“I practiced.”
Everyone agreed.
My mother sobbed.
It was the only account of the day that made sense, according to Daniel.
And that was it for a while.
Three weeks later, Daniel’s mother brought it up over dinner.
Margaret is her name.
She was someone I had known for five years.
Although we had never been close, we had always been polite.
She prefers things done correctly.
Napkins were ironed.
Christmas cards must be mailed by December 1st.
Coordinated family photos.
Before Thanksgiving dinner, she once forced Daniel to switch shirts because his navy sweater “argued with the table runner.”
I therefore anticipated inquiries regarding seating charts when she invited us over to talk about wedding specifics.
I didn’t expect Nathan.
Dinner was almost over when she put down her fork.
“I wanted to ask about the processional.”
Daniel looked up.
“What about it?” he asked.
“Is Nathan still walking Sarah?”
I glanced at him.
“Yes.”
Margaret smiled.
Not warmly.
Carefully.
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