When I taught students that event planning was like walking on a tightrope – before a live audience – without a net – I had no idea that a COVID wedding was in my future! Read on.

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“Outdoor gatherings are now limited to 50 people.”   An employee at the salon, her cell phone out, read the just released government announcement.

I sat with wet hair dripping onto a plastic cape, ready to have it styled for our daughter’s wedding, scheduled to begin in just four hours: 92 guests expected for the meal.  With a touch of hysteria in my voice, I smiled a bit too brightly: “I guess we will be illegal today.”

Perhaps I had learned to take my hands off the bar and raise my arms on the roller coaster of wedding planning during a world pandemic … or maybe I was just a bit numb from the ride.  We had invited 97 guests, under the 100 allowed; five politely declined due to Covid-19 – three of these dropping off in the past two days as provincial numbers marched toward the dreaded second wave.

It was near the end of 2019 when Samara and Travis announced their intention to marry the following year.  They had been engaged for four years – I had stopped looking in bridal shop windows!

They envisioned an outdoor ceremony in a natural setting. An available venue featured a stately older home with bridal salon, terrace, barns, horses grazing in the fields, an amphitheatre facing a river, mature trees, and a tent.  Booked. Check. A big piece fell into place, and I breathed relief. This was really going to happen! A Save the Date card was mailed.

Little did we know a virus on the other side of the planet would find its way across an ocean to burst our blissful little bubble.

As 2020 dawned, dutiful bridesmaids, Lacey and Christine, kept Samara on task, and by the end of February, she chose a beautiful gown. My daughter looked like a bride – despite the masks we wore.  By this time, news about the coronavirus rumbled louder and the roller coaster began to jostle us out of any innocence that this might not impact us.

On the morning of March 11, a global pandemic was announced, and I struggled to manage my growing fear. 

At school, I was focused on preparing my college students for online learning; they got some real-time crisis management experience as they had to pivot plans for the fundraisers they had developed as part of their events class. One group, bless their hearts, wanted to go ahead on their own they were so committed to raising money for their cause. But it couldn’t happen. Everyone jumped through hoops to transition the final capstone project, including client meetings and final presentations to online. I was so proud of the students who were isolated, some in lonely rental accommodations, as they created plans for their clients. There was a lot of virtual hand-holding and encouragement.

Businesses began to shutter. We listened to daily government briefings asking Canadians to “go home and stay home.” 

At home, choosing bridesmaid gowns felt like an act of defiance, or perhaps it was blind faith. Like my students, we also discovered much can be accomplished online. The girls selected long skirts in shades of wisteria that came out of a Texas-based retailer.  It appeared that another box would soon be checked.

We reached the top of the emotional roller coaster with gowns for one bride, two moms, and three bridesmaids selected. We coasted, briefly, but a few hair-pin turns loomed ahead.

The message that the bridesmaid dress samples had been delivered to Christine’s mailbox in Niagara Falls, New York, prompted the girls to head south on a two and a half-hour drive, leaving at 6 a.m. They took antiseptic wipes for the package, gloves and masks for themselves, but their plans fell short.

Just shy of reaching the border, Christine screamed: “Let me out, now!” She’d forgotten her passport.

“We can’t let you out on the highway.”

“You have to. The border is just around the next bend. If they see me get out, they will stop you, and you won’t get across.

“I’ll be fine,” she shouted as she clambered out of the backseat.

Lacey and Samara crossed effortlessly; however, they were wide-eyed with panic in the line-up when a voice announced over the PA system: “The border is now closed to non-essential travel.” They had the package within 15 minutes and began their return. The Canadian border agent admonished them: “You will have to quarantine for two weeks.”  They proceeded on their way and retrieved Christine without incident from the side of the highway.

I tried to tap down the anxiety building in the pit of my stomach. “We saw no one else, mom,” Samara assured me.

It was an effort to maintain a positive attitude as I feared for everyone’s health. One brother quietly voiced the opinion that the wedding should be cancelled and another, disabled, confirmed he would not attend.  A third brother eventually replied yes to the ceremony but declined dinner.  The border closing meant my American in-laws would not attend; this was my eldest brother’s family, and he had passed away four years previously. Their presence was important but pandemic fear was palpable.

Then, as cases rose, new rules: weddings restricted to 10 people. Samara and I walked around the park near her Kitchener home. In low spirits, she affirmed that if dinner included only immediate family, then that’s what it would be. They wanted to be married. I – bravely – pledged to make it a wonderful day, regardless. And she would wear “The Dress” regardless.

Fears abounded from all directions. My son and his wife worked from home, three children underfoot, offices and schools closed. Was it safe to break that bubble? The youngest needed attention as the effects of isolation became evident.  This lively four-year old was still learning to manage her emotions – and she was a flower girl in the wedding. Would she be able to cope?

Then, with two months to go, infection numbers went down and 100 people could gather outdoors. It felt like a reprieve despite some significant changes at the venue. We could hold our wedding there, but they had no staff to erect the tent or to cook and serve a meal. Covid-19 had decimated their wedding season.

Suddenly we were chugging back up the roller coaster track: new caterer, staffing, decorations, family helpers and then the free fall down the other side. We moved ahead with blind speed and faith that we would hit the sweet spot before a second wave. Another booking ensured the venue’s tent would go up.  Hallelujah, arms raised!

Masks for guests were sewn and stamped, “I masked up for Samara and Travis.”  Wedding favours – hand sanitizer – were ordered, and an emailed invitation assured guests of protocols. Everyone would sit in their bubbles, both for ceremony and dinner. I even ordered disposable covers for the mic. I sewed zirconia jewels across the wisteria masks for the bridesmaids and made a special lace and zirconia mask for my daughter, the jewels coming from an old gown of my mother’s.

Three flower girls’ dresses, white with mauve ribbons, left Australia and arrived before the bridesmaids’ dresses (to a Canadian address), despite being ordered two months later.  Small bumps and turns as the end of the ride appeared closer.  One dress required extensive alterations while the others fit like a glove.

Two days before the wedding, a difficult call. Ryan had to back out of groomsman duties. With a newborn at home, he just could not risk Covid-19. The number of cases was rising again; we understood. A generous brother agreed to step in.

Enter technology. Ryan video-called another groomsman, Giles, who placed his mobile phone into his shirt pocket. Ryan, outside his Toronto home in his wedding suit, stood up with his friend virtually. The best man set up a live stream so absent guests could watch the ceremony which included perfectly behaved flower girls and junior groomsmen carrying the rings, preceding the bride.

September 19, 2020, 4:05 p.m.: Samara seemed to float down the aisle to the Beatles’ tune, “In My Life” her voluminous skirt sweeping the ground, sun shining on her unmasked radiant face, my husband barely holding it together at her side, while tears streamed down my cheeks.  Usually stoic, our emotions overflowed.

Typical?

Perhaps, but it was much more.  The roller-coaster planning process had challenged patience, nerves, and real fear, but it also affirmed something important: when love is at the centre, the ride is also a joy.

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And this tune still gets me every time:

In My Life, You Tube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBcdt6DsLQA