There were times when well-meaning people would tell Cynda, “All girls need to feel a mother’s love. Eventually, Danielle will probably start calling you Mom.” Cynda rejected the idea. “She had a wonderful mother who loved her,” she’d say. “She doesn’t need another mother.”
When Danielle graduated from high school in 2003, Cynda had photos of her at various ages blown up into life-size posters on thick cardboard. She placed them on sticks leading up the driveway on the day of her graduation party.
Cynda saw Danielle crying on the day she graduated, but neither of them talked about the obvious reason for the tears: that Kris wasn’t there to see this moment. Kris had taken many of these blown-up photos, and Cynda knew the posters triggered memories, good and bad. But Cynda had to do something, and so she settled on celebrating Danielle with a this-is-your-life display, hoping that might lift her granddaughter’s spirits on a day of tangled emotions.
Danielle went to Eastern Michigan University, majored in psychology, and became a social worker. The job suited her. She empathized with families in crisis. Her heart went out to children who didn’t have both parents, or had endured sexual or physical abuse. She thought of how connected she had been to children from the time she was young and her mom ran the preschool.
Sometimes, she’d drive past the preschool and she’d see the latest crop of toddlers playing out back. If she was passing in the early afternoon, the shades would be drawn, and she’d think to herself, “Oh, it must be naptime.” And of course, she’d think of naptime when her mother oversaw everything. She never thought to knock on the door and introduce herself. “It would be too weird to walk in there now, as a stranger,” she’d tell people who asked why she never went back.
From time to time, she’d run into some of her mother’s former preschoolers, now teenagers. She even babysat a few of them. The kids remembered the day in 1999 that Kris died, but they didn’t bring it up, and neither did Danielle.
As she threw herself into her career as a social worker, Danielle was less focused on her love life. But then, on St. Patrick’s Day 2007, her friends dragged her out for a drink, and at a local bar, she met a thirty-four-year-old police officer named Brian Wenzel. She knew his uncle and aunt, who were there that night and made the introduction.
Brian thought Danielle was too beautiful to be interested in him, but then they talked for a little while and he asked her to dance. She accepted, they danced, the song came to an end, and Brian smiled at her. “Would you like to dance again?”
“No,” she said.
And he assumed that was that. “Well, thanks for the dance,” he said.
Even though he figured Danielle wasn’t very taken with him, Brian got her phone number from his aunt and nervously called her a couple days later.
“Hi, this is Brian. We met on St. Patrick’s Day,” he said.
“I remember.”
“Well, I thought maybe we could go out on a date,” Brian said.
“That would be fine,” Danielle answered.
As soon as she agreed to see him again, Brian desperately wanted to get off the phone. “When I’m nervous, I babble,” he later explained. “I knew if I stayed on the phone with her even ten more seconds, I’d just start babbling uncontrollably.”
And so he told Danielle: “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you with details. Good-bye.” The phone call was over in forty-five seconds.
On their first date, Brian got over his nervousness and very quickly there were many things that bonded them. They talked about their families, their dreams, and the similarities in their jobs. Danielle was especially drawn to the fact that Brian, hailing from a family of cops, had a beat that encompassed an entire school district of 4,000 students. He’s the school district’s police “resource officer,” and Danielle was touched whenever he talked about the issues that damage children and families. She saw his compassion, and at the same time, felt that his heart was reaching out to her over the losses in her own childhood: an absentee father, a mother who died young.
Brian talked with Danielle about the challenges young girls face today. He observes so many girls getting by without parental supervision, without enough love in their lives, with too much of a focus on sex. He has helped high school girls break up with their abusive boyfriends, and has seen the struggles of pregnant teens.
“It’s tough for kids now,” he told Danielle one evening. He had just watched four TV comedies in a row: How I Met Your Mother, Two and a Half Men, Rules of Engagement, and Mike & Molly. “Every show was filled with sexual jokes,” he said. “Every show had sex as the plot. And that just made me kind of sad. When I was younger, the sitcoms weren’t all about sex. We had a chance to just be children. We were watching Full House and Family Matters.”
After Brian and Danielle got engaged—he proposed to her at their favorite restaurant, the Melting Pot—she wanted to think through what connected them. She wrote down her thoughts:
“Every day, Brian and I deal with families in crisis. We see so many hard things—a lot of heartache—and that redirects us to appreciate the little things in life, and to never take each other for granted. I’ve had to try to help children who are hungry every day, who don’t have a home. For his part, Brian sees a lot of bad things—and bad people, too—and he also feels it makes him grateful for his life, and the love between us.
Brian and Danielle
“I tell Brian every day that my favorite thing is to come home to him. From a world of chaos, I come home to someone who is so level-headed and loving, supportive and sta-I ble. I’m very lucky.”
Not long after Danielle got engaged, the New York Life Foundation funded a study of adults who were young when their parents died. One in nine Americans lost a parent before they were twenty years old. And a sobering 57 percent of them said they’d trade a year of their lives for one more day with their late parent. When Danielle heard about the research, it felt very familiar to her. She counted herself in that 57 percent.
Clare Booth Luce, the writer, once said that “the loss of one’s mother is the end of one’s childhood.” The 2010 study showed just how true that is. It found that bereavement rooted in childhood often leaves emotional scars for decades, and that our society doesn’t fully understand the ramifications or offer appropriate resources. Educators, doctors, and the clergy get little or no training to help them recognize the signs of loneliness, isolation, and depression in grieving children—and in adults who lost parents in childhood. The early loss of a parent can make some people more resilient, responsible, and independent, the research shows. But there are risks. Kids who get through by being stoic and behaving like adults can pay an enormous price: They miss out on their childhoods.
When polled, most doctors say they would prefer to die of cancer rather than a heart attack. The reason? Because with cancer, you get to say good-bye. Danielle understands that feeling too. She has met people whose parents died after long illnesses. She doesn’t exactly envy them, but she recognizes that they had what she didn’t have: that chance to truly say good-bye.
For many who lost parents young, two birthdays are highly anticipated—and bittersweet. When Danielle turns twenty-nine, she will have spent more time without her mother than she spent with her. When she turns thirty-four, she will have lived longer than her mother lived. (Danielle has seen a cardiologist who assured her that she doesn’t have the heart disease that likely killed Kris.)
Danielle has told Cynda that it is a strange and melancholy feeling to know that her mother will stay forever young in her eyes. She has watched the wrinkles spread across Cynda’s face. Looking in mirrors for the rest of her life, Danielle will watch herself age too. But Kris will never be older than thirty-three.
All these realizations seemed to be heightened since the engagement. Danielle admitted she was finding it difficult not having her mother around as she planned her wedding. A wedding is often the most emotional mother-daughter event of a young woman’s lifetime. It’s said that
no one in a young woman’s life can love her like her mother does. And so for those without mothers, every activity—especially finding a dress—serves as a reminder that their mothers are gone.
Salespeople in the wedding industry are used to mothers being the decision-makers, check-writers, and hand-holders. They would ask Danielle, “So, has your mother weighed in on this yet?” She’d take a breath and explain.
When she stepped into the Magic Room for her second fitting, Danielle had brought along a four-person entourage—her best friend, her cousin Holly, her “sister” Meghan (Ted’s daughter), and of course, her grandmother, Cynda. They oohed and ahhed with all their might, and they showed her their love. But they knew that even if Danielle came with a hundred supporters, they couldn’t equal the one person she yearned to have there.
Danielle tried to find perspective. “Yes, I wished my mom could be with me, to see me in that dress,” she later explained. “But I have moments like that every day. It’s just that since I’ve been engaged, there are more of them. I’ve wanted to call her and say, ‘Hey, you want to look at the invitations? Can you come with me to the caterer?’”
Of course, it’s understandable that she’d feel her mother’s absence most acutely when trying on her wedding dress. Shelley and her saleswomen seemed like well-meaning people, but they earn their living by telling brides they look beautiful. Sometimes a girl needs her mother to give her an honest assessment. Or she needs her mother to say “You look just breathtaking . . . more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you!” Kris would have said that to Danielle.
She found solace when she reminded herself that Kris packed a lot of memories, and a lot of love, into the fourteen years she had with Danielle. Few mothers with triple the time with their daughters could find a way to give the gift of so many meaningful experiences.
Danielle also appreciated the fatherly love shown to her by her mother’s boyfriend, Ted. Even after he found another woman and married her, he remained a real presence in Danielle’s life. He invited her on regular daddy-daughter outings, even into adulthood; they’d go fishing or pick blueberries or just talk. Danielle had asked if he would join her grandfather in walking her down the aisle, and he tearfully accepted.
“I’d be honored,” he said, and as he hugged her, Danielle thought her mom would be pleased to know that when the time came, she’d have Ted’s arm to hold on to.
For weeks, Cynda was aware that she was annoying Danielle by arguing for a more extravagant cake, and giving unsolicited advice on other wedding issues. “I’d love to be more involved,” Cynda later explained. “I’m not being included as much as I’d like. Maybe this is my way of trying to hold on to her. But I need to get over that, don’t I?”
It also occurred to Cynda that Danielle was distancing herself because when they were together, Danielle couldn’t help but feel visceral reminders of her mother. To her credit, on the day of the second fitting at Becker’s, Danielle recognized that it wasn’t just her emotions that were running high. She knew this wasn’t an easy day for her grandmother, either.
There was one moment when confusion over simple semantics reminded Danielle of the issues that haunted her grandmother. After Danielle made her way out of the Magic Room, she told Cynda that she’d need to buy a “mother-of-the-bride” dress to wear down the aisle.
“Please don’t call it that,” Cynda told her.
Danielle smiled. “Grandma,” she said, “that’s how they refer to the dress. That’s what it’s called.”
Cynda gave that a thought. “Well, all right then,” she said. “That’s what I’ll wear. A mother-of-the-bride dress.”
Later that day, Cynda asked Danielle if she’d spend one night at her house before she got married. “I will, Grandma,” Danielle answered.
Cynda’s emotions swelled, and she figured she’d just say it. “You know, honey, I used to be able to put you on my lap and hug you and love you. I miss that.”
“Grandma, it’ll be great to come spend the night again before the wedding,” Danielle told her.
Both Cynda and Danielle knew: At this pre-wedding sleepover, neither of them would discuss their shared feelings of loss. They wouldn’t talk about missing Kris. They’d stay away from their opinions regarding the expensive wedding cake versus the cheap one. They’d just be together, quietly holding on to their memories. And each other.
Chapter Fifteen
Erika
Erika Hansen is back in the Magic Room for her first fitting, and
Shelley is glad to see her.
After Erika left the store on the day she bought her dress, the saleswomen at Becker’s couldn’t help but talk about her vow of purity. Like her sisters before her, Erika had promised to save her first kiss for the man who would become her husband. Not many brides today walk into Becker’s with that kind of story.
To some on Becker’s sales force, this sounded completely romantic and inspirational. The Hansen girls are making a personal stand in the face of a casual-sex society that long ago abandoned the concept of modesty, or of a slow and respectful courtship. Others at Becker’s argued that the Hansens are overcompensating. No premarital sex? That’s one thing. No kissing? That’s extreme.
For her part, Shelley is open-minded. She’s taken by the way Erika carries herself. There’s just this unruffled sereneness about her. Even here, standing on the pedestal in the Magic Room, speaking so softly and respectfully, Erika projects an air of certainty. Where did that come from?
She looks lovely, too, having carefully curled her hair this morning exactly the way she hopes to wear it at the wedding.
At first, Shelley just talks with Erika about the dress. “How does it feel on you?” she asks, as Erika’s mom, Lynn, takes photos on her cell phone.
“It feels beautiful, but it’s loose up here,” Erika says, pointing at the bodice. She has lost fifteen pounds since she was last at Becker’s, and has seen a doctor about intestinal issues.
Shelley holds the fabric at the bustline in her hand. “I’ll take in an inch at the top,” she decides. Most brides weigh less at their first fitting, and then lose even more weight before their second fitting. They’re running around, they’re dieting, they’re too nervous to eat. Shelley has to take all of this into account as she calculates alterations. Every day, she has to measure not just the dress, but her sense of a bride’s stress level and eating habits. If a bride is losing weight, how thin will she get? If she’s gaining, how many pounds will she add on? If she’s pregnant, what’s she going to look like on her wedding day?
Sometimes there are simple remedies. When weight-losing brides complain that their dresses feel like they’re falling off of them, Becker’s saleswomen make a simple recommendation: “Häagen-Dazs.”
After circling Erika a couple of times, Shelley sees that the satin lining is too long by just over an inch. She gets down on the floor, her knees tucked under the overhanging lip of the pedestal. Scissors in hand, she begins hemming the bottom of Erika’s gown. “Hold real still,” she says, “because this is the first dress I’ve ever cut.”
It’s one of Shelley’s favorite lines, and it sometimes elicits a gasp from a bride or her mother—if they’re paying attention. “Well, we’ll need to have somebody else do the cutting!” a bride’s mother will say, and Shelley has to tell them she was kidding. “It actually feels as if I’ve been kneeling here, hemming dresses, for centuries,” she’ll say.
Erika and her mom know Shelley is joking. As Shelley cuts, Lynn offers her own funny question: “What if Erika grows an inch taller before the wedding?”
“Only the child brides grow like that,” Shelley says, and everyone laughs.
While Shelley works, Erika can’t stop smiling at herself in the mirror.
Her gown, like almost every gown at Becker’s, was made in China. It usually takes four to six months for the finished dress to arrive, because the Chinese manufacturer always waits until it receives five hundred orders, from around the world, for a
particular gown. Only then do its employees start making that style. Erika’s dress passed through the hands of six Chinese workers. “A dress is built like a house,” Shelley explains to her, “and each person has a role in the construction. There’s the fabric person, the lace person, the ‘beader,’ the crystal person, the hemmer—and then the inspector.”
For Chinese bridal-gown workers, sending dresses to America reminds them that there’s a crisis in their country when it comes to brides and grooms. Because girls are less desired in Asian culture, many parents now use ultrasound scanning to determine a child’s sex, after which they selectively abort female fetuses. Some practice infanticide. As a result, there are an estimated 100 million more males than females in Asia today. Demographers from organizations such as the American Enterprise Institute say tens of millions of potential brides have been lost to “gendercide,” and tens of millions of men will never see a wedding day. China’s one-child policy helps fuel the problem, but there are other factors too: the continuing cultural preference for male heirs, the trend toward smaller families as China modernizes, and the easy accessibility of ultrasound technology for as little as twelve dollars a session. Chinese factory workers don’t have a lot of time to ponder their culture’s marriage crisis. But as they spend their days sending lavish dresses to the United States, it’s easy for them to conclude that American daughters are more plentiful, celebrated, and valued.
Shelley, of course, doesn’t share with Erika any geopolitical asides related to the origins of her dress. Instead, she keeps things light, asking Erika what type of veil she’s considering. Erika is leaning toward a “waterfall veil” that would cascade down the side of her face. Until a couple decades ago, 90 percent of Becker’s brides wore veils covering their faces. But nowadays, almost all brides wear open veils that allow their guests (and videographers) to see the expressions on their faces as they walk down the aisle.
The Magic Room: A Story About the Love We Wish for Our Daughters Page 17
