Published in the May 14 edition of the Tyler Star News.

On Saturday, our daughter Belle will walk down the aisle toward the man she loves, and we will watch her go with hearts full of hope, pride, and a bittersweet kind of joy. Her wedding day will mark the start of a new chapter for her — and, like all milestones, it quietly turns a page for those of us who have walked beside her.

As she steps into her future, I find myself reflecting not only on motherhood but on “otherhood” — the sacred, often unseen space where love grows not from biology, but from presence, consistency, and grace. It’s where many of us find ourselves when we are woven into a child’s story through trust, not titles.

An “other” is someone who steps in with love — not because they have to, but because they want to. They may not have been there at the beginning, but they arrive in the middle with open arms, soft words, and a heart that’s all in. They don’t try to take anyone’s place. They simply make room, gently filling the quiet spaces with steady love.

Being an “other” means learning as you go, sometimes getting it wrong, but always showing up again. It’s loving a child who wasn’t born to you, but who somehow becomes part of you. It’s sharing the joy, carrying the weight, and being there for the in-between moments that matter most.

An “other” loves quietly but deeply not by obligation, but by choice. And that choice is sacred.

When I met Belle, she was a little girl with a quick wit, a guarded heart, and a quiet resilience that mirrored my own. I was not her mother. She already had one — and a grandmother who loved her fiercely, too. I never sought to replace anyone. I simply made room.

And over time, room turned into relationship. Presence became love. And love became part of our story.

So, on our daughter’s wedding day, I will stand beside Belle as she becomes a wife. I’ll help fasten her veil and smooth the satin of her dress — simple and stunning, just like her. Around us, her bridesmaids will adjust their dusty blue gowns, the color of calm skies and quiet hope. I’ll stand nearby in my own dress, a soft shade of blue, beside my mother-in-law — two women who loved her in different ways but with the same steady heart. In that quiet bustle, I’ll see every step that led us here: the little girl who once clung shyly to the edges, now standing steady at the center of her own beautiful love story.

In the quiet of that moment, I will assure her that she carries the best pieces of the people who raised her:

From her mother, she carries a tenacity carved from every hard season of life; a strength that bends but does not break; and a heart that holds fiercely to those she loves. She carries the name her mother gave her, Belle, which means “beauty” — spoken over her like a blessing. And she has grown into that name, not only in form, but in spirit. She inherited her mother’s natural beauty, the kind that needs no adornment, along with her determination, strong will, and independent spirit. She is a woman who stands her ground, speaks her truth, and rises with grace, just as her mother always believed she would.

From her father, she carries a steadiness that grounds those around him, the kind of calm that makes people feel safe just by standing near him. She carries his loyalty, his instinct to protect what he loves, and his ability to lead not with force but with quiet conviction. From him, she has inherited a sincerity that is felt immediately, the kind that puts people at ease and draws them in. She also carries his heart for justice and peace, a quiet desire to make things right without ever needing the spotlight. Belle grew up in the shelter of his love, present, faithful, and constant.

From her Grammy and Pappy, she carries a foundation of steady faith, built not on loud declarations, but on small, repeated acts of grace and trust. They taught her to love God, not with pomp or pressure, but through quiet consistency, faithfully taking her to church every Sunday, living out their values in the everyday. It was in those pews, beside them, that the seed of faith was planted. And it was in their home, where prayer was lived more than spoken, that she began to believe in something greater than herself. She saw it in the way Pappy still held Grammy’s hand after decades of marriage, and in the love that made their home feel safe and whole. Their marriage was a living picture of fidelity not without hardship but rooted in devotion and shaped by quiet consistency.

From her Mom-Mom, she learned the sacred work of service; how to pour yourself out for others with open hands and no expectation of return. She witnessed the kind of woman who shows up first and stays until the end, who remembers birthdays, folds the laundry no one asked her to, holds extra space for her great grandchildren, and makes sure there’s always enough food, enough care, enough love to go around. From her, Belle learned that family isn’t just something you belong to, it’s something you uphold.

From those who left us too soon — her Grandma Tracy, Great Grandma Jeannie, and Aunt Crystal — Belle carries a legacy of strength softened by tenderness, of love worn quietly like a garment passed down from one generation to the next. Though they with not be present in body, they will be felt in spirit and seen in the way she carries herself with grace, in the courage behind her convictions, in the softness of her voice when she speaks truth in love. Their presence will linger in the air of her special day in her smile, her laughter, and her poise. Their hands may not fasten her dress or straighten her veil, but their love will surround her just the same, because she is their legacy in motion, and their love lives on in every part of who she is.

And from those of us who stood just outside the traditional frame, the ones who came later, who entered gently, unsure of where to stand, she carries something quiet but powerful. From us, Belle inherited a softness born not of ease, but of effort — the ability to make room for complexity, to hold grace for others, and to love without needing to be defined. She learned how love can arrive late and still be lasting, how presence can matter more than position, and how family isn’t always about who was there first, but about who stayed. From us, she carries the truth that chosen love is just as sacred — and sometimes, even more fiercely tender — because it was never expected, only ever offered.

Belle is the best parts of all of us, stitched together by love, resilience, and grace.

On her wedding day, she carries with her all the old traditions — something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue — stitched not only into fabric, but into the very heart of who she is.

The dusty blue gowns that sweep the room are more than a color, they are a quiet promise of open skies and calm beginnings. Her “something borrowed” isn’t pinned to her bouquet it’s written into her story: the history, the strength, the tenderness passed down by the people who helped raise her. And her “something new” waits just beyond the aisle: a life she will build, a home she will create, and a love she will grow with someone who chose her for exactly who she is.

Here is the simple truth: We do not hold our children forever. Whether we birthed them or became part of their story in some other way, our job has always been to prepare them for the day they walk forward carrying pieces of our love quietly tucked into the folds of their lives.

On Belle’s wedding day, I will cry — of course I will. Not because I am losing her, but because I have had the great privilege of walking beside her, even if sometimes just on the edges, and watching her become everything she was meant to be. I will cry for the chapters already written. The softball games under golden skies, the afternoons spent getting her ready for daddy-daughter dances, and the proud smile she wore as she crossed one finish line after another — high school, her undergraduate degree, and now law school.

And I will cry for the unwritten chapters. The home she will make, the traditions she will create, the dreams she will chase with Michael, a man of God who loves her well.

I will cry because love in all its forms, motherhood, otherhood, and everything in between was never meant to be contained. It was meant to be given away, quietly and completely. And on this day, I pass it on steady and sure, like a prayer whispered in the wind, trusting it will follow her wherever she goes.

To My Sweet Belle, on your wedding day:

May you always know that you are deeply loved — not for what you accomplish or achieve, but simply for who you are. May you carry the quiet strength that has always lived inside you, and may you never be afraid to begin again when life calls you to new places. May you build a life that feels like a refuge — not just for yourself, but for those you love. And when the world feels loud, may you find comfort in knowing that some of the strongest things — faith, hope, love — are often born in the quiet.

I am so proud of you, Belle. Always have been. Always will be.