The last time I attended a wedding, I was young enough to wear white and have guests think I was adorable and not a bitch.
My younger sister and I were flower girls at my aunt and uncle’s stylish church wedding several years back. And technically, we wore cream like my aunt did instead of the traditional white. Black bows tied were neatly around our waists and the only event I can vividly recall is when I attempted to eat a purple flower off my plate because I assumed anything that came served on a fancy dish should be edible. Quite the opposite.
This time around, I turned the corner onto my third century of life (20 sounds scary when you put it that way, no?) and I found myself filled with eternal excitement to attend another family wedding. My cousin had gotten engaged to easily one of the coolest, prettiest, craziest women out there, and I knew their small wedding would be the perfect cocktail of love and celebration.
I hopped on a plane to Ohio (talk about a destination wedding) and was immediately surrounded by family and family of family and friends of family that I hadn’t seen in several years due to distance, college, and COVID. It was joyous from the very beginning. Come wedding day, Saturday, at seven in the morning, the women were up and moving. Curling irons heated the room like a fireplace and setting powder flew threw the air, dusting the floor with subtle sparkle. Coffee had been ordered to the houses where guests stayed and got ready, keeping spirits awake.
In all honesty, I knew I secured an invite to the intimate wedding because my parents are “the cool aunt and uncle” and our family is so small it would be rude not to invite us. But in terms of relative importance, I was there to clap and cheer and drop off a present, then fly back to Texas sunshine. Or so I thought.
My aunt, the mother of the groom, was parading around the house, snapping photos with her fancy Canon camera. The thing was hefty, and you could tell the lens was set to auto-zoom as it whirled and twisted before snapping a flash picture. I thought she was adorable and offered to take the camera off her hands momentarily so I could take photos of her getting ready as well.
That small offer turned into my full-time job. I took around 200 photos of the girls getting ready and maybe a solid 20 of the groom and his buddies downstairs because all they did to prepare was drink and watch football. After the several hours of prep were up and many a mirror selfie had been snapped, I figured I would turn in the giant camera and move on to the ceremony and reception in peace when the professional photographers arrived.
My assumption was simply not the case and my aunt elected me to continue taking candids during the church ceremony. Luckily for her, my reverence for mass proceedings is easily trumped by an internal feeling of importance and, as anyone knows, wedding photos are a couple’s sole reason for getting married in public and kissing in front of their grandma. I spent the entire hour of the church ceremony with one eye shut. My right eye was glued to the camera, peering through it at my cousin and his fiancée, trying to capture every moment. 
I took photos of him crying as she walked down the aisle.
I took photos of her leaning towards his ear, squeezing his hand, and reassuring him. (Consequently, I took photos of him on the verge of passing out.)
I took a close-up of the couple after communion.
I took photos of them placing rings on each other’s fingers.
I captured the moment my poor, nervous cousin said “Yes” instead of “I do”.
I took a perfect picture of their first kiss as a married couple.
I took countless photos of the entire ceremony and the following reception. I’m by no means experienced in the world of photography, but I can confidently say there is no smile more genuine than the one on your wedding day.
It was strange to watch a wedding through the camera’s lens. I’m a firm believer that no picture can truly encapsulate a moment in time. There will always be memories left out, feelings lost over time. I think, though, that the act of taking the pictures is something so special. The attempt to freeze eternal happiness and make it last. It’s a concept of human hopefulness, a belief that love outlives the day it’s celebrated.
I think offering to hold the camera at that wedding might be one of the best experiences of my life. It reminded me that we are lucky to find love in other people and even luckier to have the technology to commemorate that love as long as we live. If you’re ever in a position to capture a perfect (or not-so-perfect) moment in your life, why not take it? Looking at the world through a camera lens has a negative association these days with failure to participate fully in life. But in my opinion, our memories are just as priceless as our experiences, and it’s vital that we can recall our joys as we move through life so we can continue to grow in happiness and love with others.
Remember you cannot create a filter for happiness. Take genuine pictures. Celebrate genuine love. Capture the moments you want to remember. One day, you’ll someone to do it for you at your wedding.