Last night I had the pleasure of watching my stepmom marry a wonderful man. I cried. And cried and cried and cried, to the point my fifteen-year-old son had his arm around me, trying to comfort me, while my almost-ten-year-old was demanding to know what was wrong in an urgent whisper.

They were happy tears. So very, very happy.

My love for her is multi-layered. She’s been my second mother since I was thirteen. She was only twenty-two when she signed on for a teenaged stepdaughter, which you know had to be tough, but she’s loved me unconditionally. She’s a wonderful and amazing grammy to my boys. Most of all, she’s my friend. We were pregnant together (my oldest and her youngest, until WeeBS came along), which was awesome, though others found it a little confusing. We’ve been through happy times together and we’ve also shared some tears. Some unhappy ones.

Sitting in the church, watching the bride and groom gaze into each other’s eyes with a love and joy you could feel in your own heart, I shed a lot of happy, happy tears.

I hope their Happily Ever After is nothing short of epic!