Faith and Values: Finding my family, and closure, on my wedding day

On July 29, I got married in a Japanese garden outside of Chicago.

Eleven guests came.

None of them were my family.

I’ve written before about my parents and the fractured relationship I have with nearly all my blood relatives.

My dad left before I was 2 years old. My mom raised me in a cult, where she later met her current husband. About a decade ago, they cut ties with me for challenging their beliefs.

My grandma was the one who kept all my aunts, uncles and cousins connected – albeit loosely. When she passed in 2017, the only thread keeping us together unraveled.

I’ve processed all this loss through therapy, writing, exercise and spiritual practice.

I haven’t felt sad or angry.

That is, until the days leading up to my wedding.

At first I found myself embarrassed. My partner’s family was going all in to help us plan the big day. They picked up our bouquets, had our dress and suit pressed (we shipped our clothes to Illinois), made arrangements for a wedding party dinner after the ceremony and even picked up sparklers for our send-off. More importantly, they gave us their support.

I wasn’t sure if my mom even knew I was getting married. Had anyone told her? I’m sure she’d heard through the grapevine. And my aunts, whom I was so close to growing up, could only muster a “thumbs-up” on social media.

I was ashamed of what I was bringing to the table. No loving in-laws for my wife; just me.

And that turned into anger.

For the first time in a long time I was mad at my mom for choosing the cult, and my stepdad, over me. I was angry she was missing my wedding, choosing not to meet my bride, not to see our house, not to know where I work, not to know the name of my dog, not to know me, anymore.

That, naturally, led to sadness, grief.

Tears stung my eyes when I slowed down enough to let myself feel the abandonment from my family. One never forgets the pain of being discarded. My dad’s rejection polluted my entire childhood and now the smog was back, choking me, reminding me that I was left once again.

This roller coaster of emotions came and went as the days grew closer to our ceremony.

Then, on July 28, the day before the wedding, my two wedding guests arrived in town. One was a high school friend, someone I’ve known for 23 years. The other, a pastor whom I became dear friends with when I moved to the Spokane area. She officiated our wedding.

Together we all had dinner: my then-fiancée and I, my two friends and my partner’s parents. I looked around the table and was filled with gratitude.

There was no hostility here. No intolerance. No tension. No anger. No shame. No sadness.

Only acceptance.

This was the family I had found my way to, and the family that had stepped in when everyone else stepped out.

In that moment, I remembered just how big and wonderful my chosen family is. Not everyone could be in Chicago for the wedding, but so much love and happiness had been expressed by people who love and support us, it filled me.

It’s too easy to let the negative thoughts take over at times. I’ll always miss my family. They shaped me. They loved me for a time, and we learned important things from each other.

But when my wife slipped a ring around my finger and in front of our 11 guests made a commitment to me, I felt chosen for the first time.

I felt closure.

Tracy Simmons, a longtime religion reporter, is a Washington State University scholarly assistant professor and the editor of FāVS News, a website dedicated to covering faith, ethics and values in the Spokane region.