The music swells. This is it. My moment. I lift my chin and step forward, feeling like the princess I always dreamt of being, determined to enjoy every step. I take my time, smiling at everyone I pass. I feel special, and loved. When we reach the end of the aisle, Kate is standing by the wooden podium. My mother and father kiss my cheeks, tears in their eyes, and take their seats. Without them at my side, the nerves come back and I almost lose confidence, but then I hand Kate my bouquet and turn, focusing on the faces staring back at me, and a sense of calm washes over me. My mother was right. These people are not strangers. Their faces represent a lifetime, my lifetime. My journey to get to this point. They are all on their own journeys, of course, but our paths have intersected somewhere along the way, and we have added our own paragraphs and pages to each other’s history books. Sometimes the impact has been brief, a footnote. But it all has meaning. It all adds value. It has all shaped the woman I am, standing here today. This day is as much a celebration of them as it is of me, because without them, my journey wouldn’t have been half as enjoyable, or epic. Kate passes me a microphone that is connected to an outdoor speaker system and then retreats.

“Thank you,” I say, clearing my throat, hearing my voice bounce back at me through the sound system. “For being here today. I appreciate it. As most of you will know, I’m not much of a public speaker. So I’ll keep this reasonably brief. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what I was going to say today. I kept coming up with pithy little speeches, and words that I thought were very wise and considered.”

I frown, adopting a serious, scholarly face and hear a few titters. It encourages me; I feel my voice strengthen.

“Words that I could pass on to you, and you would go forth and live your best life, remembering my advice, and me, always. Because that’s been my biggest fear, you see. That you’ll all forget me. I wanted you to dwell on my memory, and fester on the sadness, because I thought that would show that you still cared. But last night I realized I’ve been thinking about it all wrong. I know you won’t forget me, although you’ll probably think of me less and less as the years go on, and I’ve decided I’m OK with that. Honestly. You shouldn’t dwell. You should move on. If there is anything I know better than most, it’s that life really can change in an instant. Death will come to us all—sorry, that’s morbid, I know, and I notice a few of you shuddered when I said that word—but here’s the thing: It shouldn’t be such a taboo subject. We talk about anything and everything these days. Our sex lives, cosmetic surgery procedures, even the most ridiculous ones you can think of. I saw a program the other week about labia enhancements, for God’s sake. Sorry, Dad. You probably didn’t think that’s a word you’d hear your daughter say at her wedding.”