laura hough smith

One week from today, we’ll be all dressed up, and this time when we leave for the church in our high heels, I will be the one following her. She’ll have something old of mom’s and something borrowed from me.
I’ve had this image in mind for weeks: beautiful gown; straight, blonde hair; green eyes; sweet heart. Every decision we have made and every question she has asked bring up images of her in the dress, all dolled up in the sanctuary of our church. As soon as that picture comes to mind, my nose tickles and my eyes well up. I’m hoping all these tears now will add up to dry eyes on her big day.
For now, I just can’t help it.
The night our mom died I found Morgan, 19, lying on the floor of our pretty pink bathroom, bawling. I crouched down beside her, and when she was able to sit up, I wrapped my arms around her.
She sobbed into my shoulder, “Who will help me plan my wedding?”
I said, “I will. I will. I will.”
I repeated it over and over as we rocked on the cold tile floor.
Our journey on the long, dark road of mourning began in that moment. Yet, while death cheated Morgan more than anyone in our family, she did not become bitter or angry. Instead, she pointed her car south and made herself a part of my little family in Greenville.
Our mom asked me before she died to care for Morgan, and with a lot of help from our dad, our aunts, Wesley, my daughters and my church family and friends, I have. She may have come to my house for comfort, but I am the one who found solace. She is the one who took care of me because her beautiful little face and body belie a core made of steel.
As her big day nears, I am now the one holding on tighter and tighter. We usually talk once or twice a day; now, I’m calling her in my every spare moment and for no reason at all. I just need in these last days to hear her voice, to talk to my girl.
When I stand beside her a week from today, I’ll have nothing but gratitude in my heart — gratitude for God, dad, “the aunts,” and Wesley for getting us through; to mom and dad for giving us her, a most precious gift; and to Jake and his family, for making her dreams come true.
So, indeed, I’m holding on tightly these last few days. I’m crying randomly in the grocery store and counting the hours until Tuesday night when we leave for Sikeston. I’m ready to be there to help and sit and talk and laugh and cry — to make the final pages of this chapter of her life as beautiful as the beginning of the next.