May There Be a Road

Abigail is now twenty-seven. Although we have never met in person, we have been conversing via first email and later Skype for nearly ten years. She first contacted me while she was in High School. She was working on a project researching her family history. Her grandmother, my sister, suggested Abigail contact me, because I had become, over the years, the unofficial expert on our families' history.

Over time, we connected through our mutual love of our shared history. At first, we would email each other constantly as she strived to learn everything about the family. Through the years, as Abigail progressed through college and into adulthood, our relationship morphed into something more. First, I became something of a mentor. We found I could offer a unique and unbiased perspective to her life's challenges.

Lately, I feel like I am a close friend, someone she can share her deep secrets, without fear of compromise. Abigail has become my closest and most treasured relative. I have seen her growth for ten years from an enthusiastic teenager to a composed and confident young woman.

So, when I received an invitation to her upcoming wedding, I didn't hesitate to confirm my attending. So, here I am, traveling nearly sixty-five hundred miles to attend the wedding of a young lady I have never met. I was bringing this journal as my wedding gift.

I was met at the airport by a limousine and transported directly to the rehearsal dinner. I had no part in the wedding, but Abigail wanted me at the dinner, so there I was. Meeting Abigail for the first time in the flesh was like meeting an old friend. Upon seeing me, she squealed like a little girl and launched herself into my arms. I was immediately welcomed into the group. It was fun to meet her soon to be husband, John, and all her young friends. The evening made me feel years younger, and I had a great time.

The wedding the next day went well. Abigail was beautiful in her wedding gown and the looks of adoration from both bride and groom bespoke of a long and loving relationship. I was very happy for the newlywed couple.

From the church, we went to the reception hall, where we were treated to a marvelous meal. After the meal, the MC (master of ceremony) went from table to table, so those attending could say something to the newlyweds. When it came time for me to speak, I rose and began.

"My, and Abigail's, ancestors were Khazar, a tribe from the steppes of eastern Europe. They were a wandering people, driven to see what was over the next hill. They had a salute they shared with each other. Yol Bolsun, loosely translated, means 'May there be a road' and was the highest tribute they could make to a traveling man.

Our lives consist of a series of roads taken and, sometimes, not taken. Some are long and convoluted, and some are short and result in a dead end. However, all our life's roads lead us to where we are today.

Until now, Abigail's and John's roads have been their own separate roads that have led them to this place, this day, to become united as one. From this point, they will travel their roads together.

So, I think it appropriate to salute the newlywed couple in the custom of Abigail's ancestors by toasting them with the words of her past. Please rise and join me in toasting the new couple - Yol Bolsun!"

The reception hall reverberated with the sounds of two hundred people shouting "Yol Bolsun!"

As the echoes of the salute died down, I finished my salute by saying, "May there be a road. May there ALWAYS be a road."

The silence was complete until the MC broke the quiet by announcing it was time for dancing.

I enjoyed the party thoroughly. I was amazed by the young ladies coming up to me asking to dance. I wasn't complaining, mind you, just surprised that an old man, such as I, was attracting so much attention. It must have been my accent.

During the evening, Abigail came up to me for a dance. As we shuffled around the floor, she told me she was so happy I could attend her wedding and that she considered me her special guest of honor.

I told her the honor was all mine.

Nine months later, Abigail, joined by her husband, were on a plane, flying from their home in Colorado to Turkey. However, this was not a pleasure trip. Abigail was six months pregnant and normally would not be traveling this late in her pregnancy. However, this was not a normal occasion.

Unknown to anyone other than Tomasison, when he attended Abigail and John's wedding he was dying of lung cancer. When he learned of Abigail's upcoming nuptials, Tomasison resolved to live long enough to attend the wedding and meet his grandniece. The trip was his last hurrah.

Tomasison had died, and they were traveling for the funeral. After meeting many of her Turkish relatives at the wake and then attending the service at the local church, the couple found themselves at the gravesite listening to the priest's last words. When the time came, the couple fell in line with the rest of the mourners approaching the casket to offer their final respects.

When it came time for Abigail to approach the casket, she placed a single white lily on the walnut box. As she leaned over to place the flower, a single tear fell onto Tomasison's final resting place. Rising, Abigail, in a clear voice, made her final salute to her best friend and mentor: "Yol Bolsun Tomasison, may there be a road."

With that, Abigail and John began their trek back to town. As they walked, Abigail looked over to John and smiling said, "I think I know what I want to name our son."

John hugged his wife close and replied, "Yes, I think that would be perfect."