by Susan Lower

Created on: March 02, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

There is nothing worse a bride can hear the night before her wedding than the preacher declaring, "I'm sorry I can't marry you."

My heart didn't just sink, it fell to the floor. For days before we prepared. The hall we rented had to be scrub,decorated, and catered. Family came from four different states to attend. Sleeping arrangements were hassled over.

I prayed, because I knew, our families did not get along. My husband to be was a stubborn man, still is, and I tried to explain to him what was going to happen. But his mind was set, the RSVP's counted, the programs printed, and the appointed hour of the day grew near.

"I'm sorry I can't marry you." I cried. My family sat on one side of the church pews and his on the other. Bridesmaids were lined up, groomsmen stood at the top of Church, and when the best man stepped forward my world came crumbling to a halt.

The minister of my church refused to allow a woman to be a best man. My husband to be would have no one but his sister stand beside him, even though he had a younger brother who could have stood beside him. It had to be her.

My family are traditional folk. I tried to prepare them. They said they would walk out, no woman should be the best man in a wedding. It tore me apart. True to their word, they stood up and threatened to walk out the night of our rehearsal. Let's just say the dinner afterward was abandoned.

My husband's family are made up of an entourage of unique people. It didn't bother them in the least. I stood in the aisle way of the church between two feuding families and a minster who refused to marry me to the man of my dreams.

Sure we went to marriage classes, just one, it was all the minister required. I grew up in that church, I knew there would be trouble. My husband to be's response was to get another minister. But then we couldn't use the church, and the wedding was less than twelve hours away. What a mess, a misunderstanding gone too far.

My sister stepped in, she was my matron of honor. We found a compromise worthy of the minster. Both boys and girls would line both sides of the church. We'd have a best man and a "best woman", even though our programs would still say his sister was the best man.

Exhausted that night I went bed only to be awoken just few hours later at five am for the hairdressers. My oldest sister refused to go. She wasn't going to my wedding. She wasn't one of my bridesmaids. She was my coordinator. From five am to seven am I struggled to get my depressed angry sister

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