“When I grow up, I want to get married here,” my daughter Shannon proclaimed the first time she set foot inside the chapel on the Bowdoin College campus.

At 6 years of age, she was full of grand ideas, her blue eyes sparkling as she admired the large murals depicting David and Goliath, Moses parting the Red Sea and the birth of Christ.

Last month, with those murals as a backdrop, over 100 friends and family members witnessed Shannon’s dream come true. The baby of the family, resplendent in a Vera Wang gown, her sister Katie’s veil and pink satin shoes, took the arm of her dad and walked down the aisle to not only her sweetheart, Chris, but to the rest of her life.

She floated like an angel on a cloud accompanied by violin and harp music that filled the historic church with dulcet tones.

As the ceremony unfolded, the show almost stolen by Addison, my precocious 22-month-old grandson and Molly, the adorable flower girl, I studied the assemblage on the steps of the altar. Included were Shannon’s sisters and her best friend, a stunning young woman I’ve known nearly as long as my own daughters. Here they all were, grown up and glamorous, yet images of unraveling braids, skinned knees and missing front teeth came to mind.

Nephew marches also

The bridal bouquet was passed to the maid of honor, and the betrothed couple clasped hands to recite their vows. Chris’ sister read a verse from Ecclesiastes: “Two are better than one…” Addison sat contentedly on the steps playing with the flowers on Molly’s shoes, which didn’t seem to trouble her at all.

When Shannon and Chris were proclaimed “Mr. and Mrs.,” there was a great deal of clapping and cheering. Addison marched down the aisle behind the newlyweds as if he’d rehearsed it for a week. Outside, a crowd of Bowdoin students gathered on the quad, waiting to congratulate the lovebirds.

Ties were loosened, jackets tossed onto benches, high heels left leaning against the granite steps and children chased one another in the grass as the wedding party posed for the camera, remembering to include a group shot with the famous “Bowdoin Banner.”

The day cascaded past in a rosy glow. The day before, the reception hall in Boothbay had been transformed into an English country garden with linen-clad tables, flickering candles and vases of wildflowers, many from friends’ yards as well as from the sides of country roads. Appetizers were passed by white-shirted servers; the room was crowded with people eating, laughing and talking. Corks popped merrily as “the Bowdoin boys” poured champagne. Spoons clinked against glasses bidding the couple to kiss over and over again.

Shannon’s sister Rachel, all glittery and giddy, paired with Chris’ witty brother Matt to propose the wedding toast, leaving us all thinking they should team up permanently and tour as a comedy act.

Toasting good fortune

I raised my glass in celebration of my good fortune. I had acquired yet another son-in-law from The County.

It was a very warm day. Little Addison, barefoot and bare-chested, scooped water from the tub of melting ice left from chilling the bubbly; his 8-week-old sister, stripped down to her Pamper, was a prize passed among the eager guests. Many of the ladies shucked their pantyhose before dancing; the contra band was a new experience for most of us. With the help of the caller, we were all pros by the end of the afternoon, having the time of our lives.

All too soon, the day was over and I found myself at the newlyweds’ home, unloading wedding gifts from their vehicle to make room for the honeymoon luggage.

Much later, as I prepared for bed at home, I removed the silver locket my baby girl had given me at the rehearsal dinner the evening before. With my fingernail, I traced the single word engraved on the back of it. “Mama.” Lastly, I pulled up the covers thinking, this is Life – a day like this one. This is what beckons us to get out of bed each morning and keeps us coming back for more: the power of a dream, the moment of celebration, the gift of love.

Karen Carlton is a freelance writer living in West Bath, who is a regular contributor to this column. She can be reached by e-mail at [email protected]