A few hours before I was to enter the church, meet Sean at the altar and enter the sacrament of marriage, I sat in my hotel room full of bridesmaids, stylists and makeup artists sobbing.
The mini freakout was ridiculous, but not a big surprise considering my emotional tendencies. Still, I should have been okay given that everything was going as planned.
The morning started off fine. I woke up on time. Took some time to myself in the morning and looked out at the hills. Lori arrived shortly after 8 with the hair stylist and makeup artist, she hired. Sarah and Nancy set up shop near the living room window and huge bathroom. Andrea and Isabel showed up next and took their places getting their hair and makeup done.
I left the room to grab a quick bite to eat and ate breakfast with my aunts-in-law.
As soon as I was done, I met my dad outside the lobby. He dropped off my dress, veil, a steamer, and flowers for the bridal party. Kenton (father-in-law) was in the lobby at the time and helped me get everything up to the suite. Dad left to drop off the fruit salad at the reception venue.
There was only one minor annoyance before breakfast: the front desk never sent up a shower cap despite calling and asking for it twice.
My hair stylist, Andie, arrived promptly at 9. She set up at the wet bar for easy access to electrical outlets and a mirror. She then began the not-so-painless process of styling my hair. I like Andie’s work, but being as tender-headed as I was at 6 years old, it hurt a little.
To distract myself from the tugs, I started to think about taking a nap. Crawling back in to bed sounded wonderful. I was sleepy and starting to get cranky. I blamed the uncomfortable bed, missing my pillow at home, checking in too late and not sleeping well Thursday night. I looked tired too. I could see the bags under my eyes. Sniffles and a tear or two turned in to more.
No one said anything. I don’t think they even noticed since we were all busy. Andie made small talk, but thankfully didn’t mention the tears. She was probably used to brides freaking out. In fact, she told me a story or two later.
I excused myself for a moment and went to a corner of the bedroom to grab tissues and tried to calm down. I needed to stop crying, if only for vanity. Elisa, the makeup artist, would be arriving at 10:30and I didn’t want a red nose and puffy eyes.
I was fine for a few more minutes until mom showed up armed with dresses and oatmeal for any hungry bridesmaids. She noticed the tears. Of course she did. I’ve never been able to hide my emotions from her. She spoke to me with compassion and concern, the same voice I’ve heard for the past 32 years.
“What’s wrong, mija? Why are you crying?”
She put her arm around my shoulder and squeezed me. I tried to explain that I was tired and didn’t sleep well, but that just made me cry more.
I tried to speak. “I was doing fine until you made me talk.”
“Everything is going to be okay, mija. Ya no llores.”
I took more deep breaths, dabbed my eyes, drank some water and hope I’d cried the drowsiness and nerves out of my system. Or maybe I just needed my mom by my side to calm me down. That has worked since before I could remember.