And the bells toll

There is something quite … well surreal I guess would be the word … about weddings. Even those that start at the unGodly hour of 9am on a Saturday morning when the rest of the world is allowed to sleep in.

That was how I spent this morning - in church bearing witness to an ancient rite of passage for a guy I’ve known all his life.

From his birth as a “blue baby” with a possible hole in the heart complication which thankfully didn’t materialise, to a very happy child with - at least to me - was a very large head!

While I’ve watched him grow up - and I’m sure I’ve changed a nappy or two of his - in many ways, he will also be that quite kid, always in the background, perfectly behaved.

And now he stood beaming in his suit waiting for his bride to arrive. It’s still hard to reconcile that this was the same sweet little guy who was moments away from taking a wife and starting down a new path.

Maybe it’s just me but the brain doesn’t quite comprehend the passing of the years. In many ways I don’t feel all that different from when I was 16. Okay maybe the eyesight has grown progressively worse such that I now need reading glasses, the mid-rift spread has long since happened and the act of sitting down isn’t complete without the age-telling “ahhhh”. But apart from all this - mentally perhaps - I don’t feel any older.

As I watched him take his vows and put the ring on her finger, something clicked in the ole brain … this was all real and time has marched forth for all of us. I’m happy for him… for them … but at the same time there was more than a tinge of sadness in the heart - that while a new chapter has begun, the pages which have gone before are worth embracing … just one last time.