weddings, death, violins, bagels, school

It's funny how seemingly disparate threads of our lives, having unraveled years ago, can sometimes re-converge, bringing back crystalline moments we had perhaps forgotten. Such was the morning of returning to school, beginning that strange transition back into the normal world of a 16-year-old girl, a few days after my father's death.

I've had weddings on the brain lately, what with  Jessica & Andrew's May wedding and the honor of reading a poem there, the ex-boyfriend's wedding a couple days ago, Mom & Paul's 8th anniversary a week ago, what would have been Mom & Dad's 42nd anniversary in June, Nate & Shanna's first anniversary in September, the upcoming black-tie affair, and of course Katrin & Jon's  lovely lake wedding earlier this month.

Oh Katrin's wedding.  It was beautiful and joyous and sweet and in a way, for me, heartbreakingly sad. It was a reminder that that place, that beloved lake of mine, is a place I can visit, can even return to again and again, but can never force into still being home. It was also in many ways the wedding I might have wanted had my family stayed in Lake Mohegan, had my father been around to walk me down the 'aisle.'  I envied Katrin those moments with Nico, even as I smiled to see them together, looking stunningly beautiful beneath the overarching trees and spattering of raindrops as Nico walked Katrin down to the water, to us, to her Jon.  I envied Katrin that perfect moment when the sun came out, bathing them both in a radiant golden light as they spoke their vows to each other, though I was grinning even as I cried (yes, I cry sometimes at weddings).

At the same time I am grateful for having a chance to somehow re-experience this beloved growing-up place at such a lovely occasion, on such a lovely day.  The other time there was such a large lake event was for my father's memorial service, back in 1993.  We, clothed in sadness and clustered down by the water on a stunningly beautiful April morning, perched on benches and the beached swimming raft and ad hoc rows of folding chairs, listened to Katrin and her sister, Yona, play their little violins in between people speaking -- some tragically sad piece that they had learned the day before just for the occasion (prodigies the both of them, I swear).

It was a special moment to watch Yona, all grown up now and absolutely stunning herself, pull out her violin and swing away at those strings in honor of her sister's marriage.  And it was a strangely transforming afternoon, this gathering for such a different kind of celebration -- the unadulterated joy of watching two people setting off on a life together instead of the bittersweet joy of celebrating a life's ending, even if a life well-lived.

And then just yesterday, out of the blue, I got a message from Stephen, a boy I knew a little bit in high school, to whom I had written a letter awhile back (always with the letters, this girl).  Seems he finally saw said letter and to reassure me that it was really him replying, even though he doesn't really remember me (embarrassing? yeah a little bit -- such is the legacy of the shy and timid teenager), he mentioned the bagel table.

Back in high school we string players were constantly trying to raise money for the orchestra.  One of those ways was selling bagels a couple mornings a week in the school lobby before classes started.  It fell to the kids with cars (or in my case to the kid with the really nice mom) to get up at ungodly hours and pick up the bagels.  We roped in the rest for slicing and buttering and money-taking duty, and they were pretty good about showing up by 7am on their scheduled days (which now that I think about it is pretty impressive for teenagers).  Even so, as orchestra president (whatever that meant), I kind of felt like a nag:  constantly reminding or reprimanding or annoying people about coming in for their shifts.

My father died on a Sunday and I stayed home from school for most of that week, but I was on the bagel schedule for that Friday and made one of the friends or relatives who'd flown in for the memorial service drive me to the school.  I walked in to find Mr. Schwartz, high school orchestra conductor extraordinaire, and Stephen setting up in the lobby.  They looked up at me, glanced at each other, and then Mr. Schwartz just smiled this sad warm smile and said, "I guess we should have known you'd come in today."

And that's how I went back to school, and it's strange that until yesterday I'd forgotten that moment so completely it may as well never have happened.