They told me every bride has one. Even the most organized, even the most laid back, even the anti-brides are bound to have…a breakdown. “The pressure of planning a wedding will build, and the stress will become such that you’ll crack.” At least that’s what they said. It will be over something insignificant too: For some it’s the table settings, for others it’s the cake, for me…it was the dress. It was nothing in particular about the dress; I love the design and, from the looks of things at the final fitting, the seamstress was doing an impeccable job.
The problem was that it was a week before the wedding and I still didn’t have the dress. By this time it should have been hanging in my closet, having been tried on multiple times as reassurance that I would indeed look pretty on my wedding day. But the seamstress pushed it back a day, said it wouldn’t be ready until “probably Sunday.” No big deal, right? Just pick it up tomorrow instead of today.
Jordan could tell I was getting nervous. Well, let’s be honest. I told him I was nervous that morning. But he convinced me to stay calm and go about my day. Of course the pressure, which wasn’t really about the dress, or the seating assignments, or which songs to play during dinner, was still there. And he knew it. So while I ran errands, he practiced guitar. I ticked things off the list even as more were added. I finalized things with the photographer, I typed up the seating assignments, I answered emails from, well, everyone.
But when pressure builds for nearly a year, it needs to go somewhere. So at 11 O’clock that night, I broke.
Jordan was ready.
He spent the day lining up his ammo and he was poised for the onslaught. He stood strong as my wedding stained tears left sink holes on his dress shirt. He grabbed tissues, teddy bears and blankets, and told me it was all going to be OK.
Of course, that kind of sentiment only goes so far when a woman is in breakdown mode. Which is why he grabbed his guitar, which is why he learned a new song while I ran errands, which is why, as I lay on the bed with a pink face, snotty nose and tousled hair, he plucked the guitar strings and sang me a song. A few notes are all it took. My stress turned to relief, the pressure turned to calm, my tears turned to gold.
When I asked him what prompted him to learn a new song he said, “So that when we look back on this day, rather than it being the dress-isn’t-ready-breakdown day, we can remember it as the song day.”