Disclaimer:  The story and characters of Christy are
the property of the LeSourd family and others.  This
work of fan fiction is for personal amusement only and
is not intended to infringe on those rights.  The
writer seeks no profit from this story.

Title: From This Day Forward
Author: Greer




 I kept looking at myself in the mirror, and it
never got any better, no matter what angle I chose. 
What was I going to do?

        My hair would simply not cooperate.  Most
mornings, I could tuck my long auburn tresses into a
tight weave at the back of my head without a second
thought, every strand in its place.  But today, no
matter how hard I tried, pieces kept falling out and
my arms were now growing weary of trying to hold half
my hair in place while pinning up the rest of it.  I
stomped my foot in frustration. 

        Of all days I wanted my hair to be perfect,
this was it.  My mother had offered to do it, but I’d
insisted I could do it myself – my one last moment of
independence.  I let my hands rest at my sides, took a
deep breath, and sighed.  I would try it one more
time.

        “Can I help you, dear?”  

        In the reflection of the mirror, I saw my
mother step into the room.  

        “I didn’t want to disturb you,” she continued,
“but time is getting short . . .”

        I breathed a huge sigh of relief.  “Would you?
 I don’t know why I can’t seem to get my hair to stay
up this morning.”

        My mother smiled as she took the brush from my
hands.  Could it perhaps be that you’re a bit excited
on your wedding day?”

        My wedding day.  I should be excited, I should
be exhilarated.  Today I would marry the man I loved. 
But as my mother sat me down in a chair in front of
the mirror, I found myself experiencing something
else, some other emotion that I couldn’t identify.  

        My mother took out the clips and pins I’d
already placed and brushed my hair down over my
shoulders.  I smiled, remembering the many times she’d
done this for me as a child.  It felt so good to have
my mother taking care of me as she had for so many
years.  

        “You’ll need to sit up straight, Christy,
unless you want your hair to look lopsided.”  My
mother’s voice brought me out of my reverie.  She
turned me slightly in the chair and my whole room came
into view.  My room.

        I’d packed most of my possessions, but
momentos of my childhood remained within these walls. 
My small collection of thimbles lined my bureau. 
Propped up with pillows on my bed were my three most
favorite porcelain dolls, dressed in pale pink dresses
my mother had helped me make.  The lace curtains my
Aunt Mae had sewn hung from the windows and the
crocheted pillows from Aunt Belle decorated the single
chair.  And, sitting in the middle of my bed was my
teddy bear.  I’d rarely been without him as a child,
but I couldn’t quite see introducing him to my
husband.  

        “It will never be the same, Christy,” my
mother said quietly.  “Your room is now in your
husband’s home.”

        I turned sharply at her words and nearly
screeched as a pin dug into my scalp.  “How did
you--?”

        “I was a bride once myself you know, the day I
married your father.”

        I’d seen a photograph of my parents on their
wedding day.  My father had worn his best suit and my
mother her best dress – nothing like the magnificent
white gown that I was wearing.  Still, I had trouble
imagining my mother as a young bride.  “What were you
thinking about -- when you were getting ready?” I
asked.

        “I was so happy to be marrying your father.  I
loved him very much; I knew I wanted to spend the rest
of my life with him.  But the day I got married, there
was a part of me that was frightened.  Frightened of
leaving my home, my parents, the things I’d grown up
with.  I knew that the moment I stepped out of my
room,
everything would be different.  I would no longer be a
little girl.  I would be a wife for my husband and
soon a mother for my own children.”

        “But you visited Grams all the time after you
were married.”

        “Yes, but it was different.  My room was no
longer my room.  My mother’s home was no longer my
home.  And my mother was—“  She paused for a moment,
brush suspended in mid-air.

        I waited patiently.  My mother rarely spoke to
me on such a personal level and today I needed to hear
her words.

        She pinned another piece of hair to the pile
atop my head before continuing.  “All my life, I’d run
to my mother when I had a problem or when things went
wrong. She was my teacher, my lifeline, my best
friend.  The day I married your father, he took over
all those roles.  I could only hope he was ready.  And
that my mother was ready to entrust me to him.  And
that I was ready to become a young woman.”  She
rotated me toward the mirror and stepped back.  “There
now, how does that look?”

        “Beautiful,” I murmured.  “It’s never looked
so
beautiful.”

        My mother gently lifted the veil onto my head.
 Her eyes met mine in the mirror.  Nothing had changed
and yet nothing would ever be the same.

****