The Day I Reclaimed What Was Taken

We had an intimate family celebration for my parents 40-year wedding anniversary that weekend. Pictures of their special day, when they were all but children, scattered across tablecloths and cake stands with their wedding song softly playing in the background. My littlest nieces were decked out in their favorite ensembles for the occasion and enthralled with the flashback photos; their sweet, innocent connections that the adults in their life were once young. My mom brought her wedding dress out, still in the same box that held memories of 40 years past. It was then that it hit me, the latest grief stage. Sudden waves of emotion followed by a pulsating, throb of sorrow. I would never have a 40-year wedding anniversary. 

I had just begun the intense grieving over the loss of my marriage.  Grieving the loss of life and the survival of all that had happened to me in those nearly two decades. As I drove home to my apartment that evening, reminiscing the sweet yet internally somber day, I asked God, what can I do about this? What can I do with the memories of a wedding day where vows were exchanged laced in lies, and years as a committed wife were simply taken from me? What can I do with this, God?

My own wedding anniversary was on the horizon, and it dawned on me that in one week I would be heading back to my marital home to pick up the remainder of my things, including my own wedding dress.  I imagined touching the blush-colored garment bag; the custom-hangar with my married name in script font across the top. I could feel the layered tulle beneath the bustle; the soft, satin finish. I could feel the raw emotion I would have in this moment.

And God, in all His glory, began to reveal a tender and intimate image to me as the sun was setting through my rearview mirror on my drive home that evening. I pictured myself in my wedding dress, on a beach, walking confidently in who I was and who I would become from survival and healing. I imagined vows, written to myself. A promise to take myself back, to love and honor who I was as a wife, and all that I would become. These images inspired a shift. In the middle of the grieving, I hired a professional photographer. I exposed my heart and mind to seeing and touching my wedding dress again, and planned what I would eventually call a “Reclaim” photoshoot that took place four days shy of my 8-year wedding anniversary. And it was the best gift I could have given myself in that phase of my healing. 

On that humid, summer evening, much like my wedding day, I walked onto a beach barefoot in my wedding dress. I was still a wife at this time.  Legally, speaking. But on this day, I was so much more. The photographer captured a woman, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, and a friend. She captured a woman who may not have a 40-year wedding anniversary, but had and will have, a lifetime of love. I felt peace and confidence in those moments that I had not experienced in many years. And as I stood on that beach with the sunset rippling across the bay, I felt God with every ounce of my being say, it’s going to be amazing. 

The album I created holds the photos I want to celebrate.  The photos I want to show my sweet nieces when they grow up and ask me about my time as a wife.  The album holds a story I want to remember.

Dear partner. Our healing is a choice. I pray that you make it your own. I pray you ask God for guidance as new obstacles surmount, and in the choosing of how you want to heal. Here are the vows I made to myself. My commitment to the healing.    

I, Take Thee

I Take you Back.

Not lost, but Found.

Not broken, but Redeemed.

I Reclaim what was taken.

I Celebrate all that you have been, all that you are, and all that you will become.

Faithful.

Daughter.  Sister.  Aunt.  Friend.

From this day Forward,

The very worst, has made you the very Best.

Go, Live in Peace.

I Take you Back.