Two of our closest friends married off their sons within 24 hours of each other. I made 2 table runners as wedding gifts, and machine quilted them as I hope they will be used well and tossed in the washing machine. (I'll probably never use variegated thread again in my life, though, but that is another post.) The weddings took place this past weekend and I officially became "the old lady who cries at weddings". I've seen those boys go from diapers to tuxedos and shared the adolescent angst (and behavior) with their parents, so it's easy to see how I get weepy when I see them walk them down the aisle or have that "mother and son" dance. The harder moment for me is when the father of the bride gives his daughter to her future husband. I flash back to the moment my dear Dad let go of my hand and placed it into Joe's, and my heart just aches. Life is precious and fleeting.
This from a blog post a few years ago:
I didn't know it at the time, but the last time my parents came to
Gloucester for a visit was during the Perseid meteor shower of about
1998. We had friends who were members of a local beach club so we were
able to troop down to the beach with a hibachi, wine, dessert and sand
chairs to make a perfect evening in a perfect setting even
more....perfect. We had a marvelous supper, topped off by Mom's peach pie
made from peaches picked in our own backyard. Dad was the
official peach peeler (he's a hound dog for peach pie) and Mom could
whip up a pie so effortlessly it was all done in a blink. I can still
remember the setting in vivid detail, but I can't conjure up the taste
of Mom's peach pie. It's been too long and while my own peach pies are
pretty good (from good DNA) they aren't hers. They aren't from peaches
in our own backyard, they weren't peeled with love by my Dad, and .....
well, you get the idea. We watched the sun set and the stars come out,
the moon rose perfectly between the twin lighthouses of Thatcher Island,
and the meteor shower began. It was an experience we all talked about for
years to come. 
We had to prop up those peach trees with lumber because the branches were so heavily laden with fruit they would otherwise break. The trees have since died off, and while we planted two others only one took root. A few days ago Joe walked in to the house with three little peaches from our 'new' tree. First fruits. Upon realizing it wouldn't be enough to make a pie or a cobbler or a crisp, I flashed to my memory of Mom and Dad in the kitchen, Dad peeling peaches and Mom working magic with pastry. Perseids and peaches will forever be twined together in my heart. Who knew such a powerful and priceless memory was being made that night? I have always "felt" things so deeply - my mother even said I was her most moody child. Sometimes I'm barely convinced I have any skin at all. Like so many others who have struggled with depression I was shocked and anguished by the death of Robin Williams. He was such a brilliant and talented man, but even all his resources were not enough. Mindful that building resilience is important, I've been trying to live more vigilantly and find things to rejoice in, to celebrate and savor. I'm trying to block off the voice in my head that constantly admonishes, "You should be doing -----" when I just want to sit and sew or embroider or read for an hour. (I have found it to be wonderfully enriching to put a stopper in that damn voice once in awhile.) Added bonus - I had the presence of mind to save one of those peaches to eat when I sit on the back porch and look for Perseids tonight. Life is good.
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