By Rev. Tom White, June 19, 2019 — She was 22 years old. She was a pretty woman — intelligent and caring, and she was about to be married in one week. She came from a broken home. She was only three years old when her mother suddenly took off, leaving her father to raise her. Mother felt that she had to “find herself.” She joined a company of like-minded women and together headed to parts unknown (and, yes, words came back that she burned her bra; remember, this was the ’60s).
Following an uncontested divorce, her father married again. Kay’s stepmother was named Hannah. She provided a remarkably stable home life for Kay—all that a girl could ask for.
Kay planned a beautiful wedding day for her fiancé and herself. Stepmother Hannah offered much help but let Kay do the planning. Kay adored her stepmother.
In the weeks prior to the wedding, the couple went through a pre-marital course with me. As far as Kay went, everything seemed set for a gracious, beautiful wedding.
Then someone Kay hadn’t seen showed up. It was her natural mother! She had heard about the impending marriage, and she wanted to know what time the wedding rehearsal would take place so that she could come and take part.
Kay went ballistic. She said, “Absolutely not. No way. You are not even invited to the wedding. Go back to wherever you came from.” Dad and Hannah were relatively reticent. Hannah told her stepdaughter that she understood her dilemma and would be okay with whatever Kay wanted to do.
Kay reiterated that there was no dilemma. Hannah was Mother. Period!
So far, I had no part in this fracas. I had learned in life not to get involved in an ugly confrontation when you can get out of it. This was about to end: Two days before the wedding, Natural Mom came to my office. She just didn’t get it: “I was the one who gave birth to her. It is my blood which flows in her veins. I’m the real mother! Not Hannah.”
I said a quick, silent but earnest prayer. Then I replied, “You are right. Hannah is only the stepmother. But who saw her off for her very first day of school? Who lovingly washed off the wounds from her first fall off of her bicycle? Who gently comforted her and dried the tears when her first teenaged crush went south? That’s why Hannah will be the last person to be seated, up in the first pew, before the wedding procession begins.”
Natural Mom still sobbed and offered her same protests (“I’m her real mother”). At last I said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
Of course, Kay was still adamant, but I was able to wring out of her a couple of consents.
I went back to Natural Mom and said, “This is what is going to happen. You can attend the wedding service. You will be seated in the last pew; you will be escorted to your car after the ceremony. You will not be in the receiving line. You will be driven to the place of the reception to see the set-up but, again, no staying.”
“But I am her moth…” I cut her off, saying, “I think that this is a pretty fair deal, all things considered, and,” I added, “any attempt to circumvent any of these arrangements will result in an immediate exit, accompanied by ushers.”
I understand that in later years, Kay established a modicum of a relationship with her birth mother. I also understand that Hannah made a very, very Grand Mother to Bob and Kay’s three kids!