Cinderella and the Vietnamese Wedding

Yesterday evening, my husband and I attended a Vietnamese wedding celebration in Portland, Oregon. It was the reception wedding dinner of my hairdresser's younger sister. It was a cheerful celebration at a local oriental restaurant. The banquet room was decorated in lavender, white and pink, the tables were set with fresh bouquets of lilies, roses and orchids and it was apparent that an abundance of food would be served , while a Vietnamese band would be playing. There were 30 tables for ten people each, and just about every seat was taken by the time dinner started. There was a very energetic and effective master of ceremony, a freely flowing bar, and the atmosphere was genuinely congenial. We sat at table 30, with three other couples we did not know, since we were not family. The couple to my left was a distinguished looking Vietnamese husband and wife, reserved, elegant and very nice to talk to. Since we were siting at the end of the room, but still in the middle, we had a good view of the family groups of the bride and groom. The bride looked like a dignified princess in her elegant gown, and at the end of the dinner, she changed into a beautiful red gown with gold embroidered flowers, to come and thank all the guests for their attendance and gifts. The whole dinner had a feeling of class and elegance to it, without being pompous or fake.Everyone seemed to have a good time. When we got home around midnight, I sensed a feeling of disenchantment, not uncommon when one attends an elegant social affair. The thought of Cinderella came to me, of how instead of 300 family members, we had a family of 3. Without my husband and son, I would have no family at all. I am very grateful for them, and together with our cozy cats Sneakers and Tigger who wandered into our yard 12 and 3 years ago respectively, and our recently adopted dog Yara, there are 6 of us. We are very close, very cozy. There are times. like after a large family wedding like the one we attended last night, when the absence of an extended family feels painful. I grew up with many aunts and uncles, grandparents, cousins, but by the time my parents were done tearing each other apart, I no longer even had siblings. Some of the numbing of the loss will probably never wear off, anesthetizing the sorrow was a way to survive it, to analyze it and eventually understand and accept it. Like Cinderella at the ball, it was not the absence of a gown ,or slippers or a fancy carriage or prince that were the problem. The problem was the nasty stepmother, and evil stepsisters, and the curse she had to break. She succeeded with the help of her fairy godmother. I succeeded with the help of my husband and the blessings of my son, my church and a few very faithful friends. That way, no matter the melancholy aftermath of a big wedding, anniversary, baptism of friends and neighbors, I eventually always find back the slipper I lost in the self-pity party, and the words on my glass slipper are always, invariably:" gratitude at a second chance."