Our Family's 105-Year-Old Heirloom Has Seen 13 Weddings
In a fold of tissue paper, in a house in Tempe, AZ, lies a handkerchief that some five generations of women in my family have carried on their wedding days - some of us (like me), more than once.
From a nervous bride more than 100 years ago to my cousin's daughter just a few months ago, women on the maternal side of my family have carried The Wedding Handkerchief, also known as "Beulah's hankie," down the aisle something like 13 times.
It's nothing special on its own - just a white linen handkerchief with a pretty lace trim. Its brightness has dimmed over the years, and the fabric is thin; the lace is torn a bit on one spot. My Aunt Barbara is the keeper of the handkerchief, which was first carried by an aunt-by-marriage, Beulah Gorgony Crum, on her wedding day (September 14, 1911) in Portland, Oregon. The handkerchief, doubtless, was Beulah's "something new."
It's a life-changing time like a wedding, birth, or death when a family tradition or heirloom can bring deeper meaning to the ceremony.
There's a lot to be said for wedding traditions, even as the institution itself has changed over the years, because of evolving mores and laws. Marriage equality has become a reality, so it's more than just "man and wife." Some of us have wed multiple times. But it's at a life-changing time like a wedding, birth, or death when a family tradition or heirloom can bring deeper meaning to the ceremony or celebration. Like the famous wedding rhyme, "Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue" - our wedding handkerchief carries more than just symbolism.
Beulah and Virgil, her husband, built a lovely large home in Portland's Rose City Park neighborhood, but had no children; so, after some years, they invited their niece, Ruth Crum, to visit from Montana. She was in her mid-20s, was one of several children, and she was unmarried. Ruth took a job in an office but soon met Rae, the dashing son of Virgil's business partner. On Oct. 20, 1930, Rae and Ruth married in Portland; Beulah gave the handkerchief to Ruth as her "something borrowed" to carry.
Rae and Ruth had two daughters: Elizabeth and Barbara. Both daughters grew up and married; each carried Beulah's handkerchief in her wedding, in the mid-1950s, as "something old."
Barbara gave birth to two daughters and a son, and Elizabeth had three daughters and two sons. Those five girls (including me) grew up to marry and carry Beulah's handkerchief in each of their weddings in the 1980s. Barbara carried the hankie a second time when she remarried, and the boys' brides carried the handkerchief, as well.
Five generations of women have clutched the same exact scrap of fabric on such important days.
I carried Beulah's handkerchief under the sash around my waist when I married in 1989, and used it for the tears on my face. Although we separated in 2001, I was lucky enough to get a second chance at love. In 2007, I again carried Beulah's "something old" tucked in my dress.
My generation has had our children, and our daughters and sons have grown up. Now three brides of a new generation have carried this matriarchal legacy down the aisle. The latest, my second cousin Lauren, tucked and pinned the hankie under her train to continue the tradition, in January of this year.
I think about five generations of women clutching the same exact scrap of fabric on such important days. We shared it when we made promises of love, when we let go of childhood, and when we cried. I think of the magic in women's tears, and of the power in carrying the tears of my foremothers, my sisters, up to the altar.
The inheritance of my matriarchs is what helps me stand as a woman. It is what I give to my daughters and future granddaughters. I can't think of a more potent symbol to carry on a date with destiny than that.
