A few weeks after the wedding, I returned to Boise with Daniel.
We had spent the first days of our marriage visiting family and sorting through the wedding photographs.
Grandma was especially excited to see them.
She wanted copies of everything.
She looked at the photographs one by one, smiling whenever she recognized someone.
Then she reached the picture of Lucas walking beside me.
She stopped.
Her fingers rested on the photograph.
"Your mother would have loved this."
I sat beside her.
"I think she would have laughed at Lucas first."
Grandma laughed.
"Probably."
We both smiled.
But neither of us could look at the picture for very long without becoming emotional.
It showed something words couldn't fully explain.
A man honoring a promise that had belonged to someone else.
A family remembering a woman who had left too soon.
And a wedding that had somehow become connected to a promise made years before.
I asked Grandma whether she remembered the day Mom first mentioned the crimson dress.
She smiled.
"She talked about it whenever you brought up getting married."
I looked at her.
"She did?"
Grandma nodded.
"She used to say she would make sure you could recognize her from anywhere."
I laughed softly.
"She really meant it."
"Your mother meant what she said."
I kept that photograph.
I placed it beside the letter in a small wooden box.
I didn't want either one to disappear into a drawer.
They belonged somewhere I could reach whenever I needed them.
Daniel understood.
He never complained when I spent time looking through old photographs.
Sometimes he would sit beside me.
Sometimes he would simply bring me a cup of coffee and leave me alone with my memories.
He understood that marrying him hadn't meant leaving my mother behind.
It meant carrying her love into another part of my life.
One afternoon, Lucas came over.
He had brought a small box of wedding photographs.
He placed it on the kitchen counter.
"I thought you might want these."
I opened it.
There were pictures of Grandma.
Pictures of Daniel.
Pictures of the guests.
And several photographs of Lucas in his crimson dress.
I laughed.
"You're going to have to explain these to people for the rest of your life."
He shrugged.
"That's fine. I have a good explanation."
I looked at him.
"You're not embarrassed?"
He seemed surprised by the question.
"Why would I be?"
I smiled.
He continued.
"That dress meant something to your mother. That's all I cared about."
I looked at the photographs again.
Then I noticed one picture I hadn't seen before.
It showed Lucas standing beside Grandma.
They were both smiling.
I picked it up.
"You two look happy."
Lucas nodded.
"Your grandmother was happy that day."
Grandma smiled from across the room.
"I was happy because my granddaughter got married."
Then she looked at Lucas.
"And because somebody finally listened to that little girl who wanted her mother at the wedding."
Lucas lowered his head.
I reached over and hugged him.
He hugged me back.
I realized then that my mother's promise had given us something we could all hold on to.
It hadn't brought her back.
Nothing could do that.
But it had reminded us that love could continue through the people who remained.
A few days later, I decided to do something with the letter.
I wanted to protect it.
The original paper was old, and I was afraid it might become damaged.
I made a careful copy.
I kept the original inside a protective folder.
Then I placed it in the wooden box with the wedding photograph.
I added one more thing.
A small photograph of my mother in her Army uniform.
I wanted the three pieces together.
Her photograph.
Her letter.
And the picture of Lucas walking me down the aisle.
When I closed the box, I felt peaceful.
Not completely.
Grief doesn't work that way.
But I no longer felt that the promise had ended when my mother died.
It had reached me.
And I could keep it alive.
That evening, Daniel asked whether I wanted to put the wedding photographs into an album.
I nodded.
We sat together sorting them.
He picked up the picture of Lucas.
Then he looked at me.
"Can I tell you something?"
"Of course."
"I'm glad you had him."
I looked at the photograph.
"So am I."
Daniel smiled.
"Your mother chose a good friend."
I nodded.
"She really did."
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: Years Later, I Realized the Greatest Gift My Mother Left Me Was Not the Letter but the People Who Kept Their Promises
My Mother Made One Promise Before Leaving for Iraq, and I Held on to It Long After She Was Gone
Part 7 of 20
