A family tree begins to grow

The Boston Herald

BEVERLY BECKHAM

I phoned her for another reason, but there is no other reason for Jill these days. All talk leads to Tara.

"In 40 days Tara will be married," she said, not in a forlorn, I'm-losing-her way. But with wonder. Forty days, can you believe it?

Jill has always talked with wonder about Tara.

"Can you believe it?" she said all those many Februarys ago when the social worker placed Tara, then just four days old, in her arms. People talk about the experience of birth. This was a birth. I was there. I saw a family born. One minute there was just Mark and Jill. And then there were three.

If Jill had had a choice of all the little girls ever born, she would have chosen Tara. If there were a line of cradles circling the earth, she would have come to Tara's and stopped and known her for her own. That's how meant they are for each other, Jill with her huge capacity to love, and Tara, a child who has always basked in that love.

Tara had dark hair, dark eyes and china doll skin. "She's beautiful," we all murmured. She could have been a plain child and Jill would have loved her into beauty.

Tara was all ribbons and bows, Jill's doing at first. And pink. Every bunting, every sweater was pink. But then it became Tara's choice to have pink dresses and ribbons in her hair and patent leather shoes. Some kids like sneakers and overalls. Not Tara. She liked tiaras and her mother's high-heeled shoes.

Childhood goes by in a flash, even when you're paying attention, even when you're savoring the days. Your children will be children forever, that's what you think. "Mommy, watch! Mommy, I need. Mommy, come here."

How many afternoons was Tara in my kitchen? A 4-, 5-, 10-, 12-year-old practicing with my daughters for their dance recital? I see her in a lavender leotard covered with spangles, a purple feather in her hair. I see her shuffle-ball-stepping in black tap shoes. I hear her singing "In my brand new gown, with my upswept hair, I'm Cinderella standing here," step-slide-stepping in pink ballet slippers.

And I see her a few years later, appearing like a real-life Cinderella, walking down her steps dressed in a teal gown, not teetering anymore, steady in her high heel shoes on her way to the senior prom.

"Only 40 more days," her mother says now, the question behind the words every mother's question: Where did it go? How did we get here?

Tara is a grownup. Tara is a teacher. Tara has been engaged for more than a year and known the man she is marrying for twice as long. "We are gathered today to join this man and this woman," the priest will say.

This man and this woman, formerly known as this boy and this girl. When did it happen? That's what Jill is asking. And how could it have happened so fast?

Two years after Tara arrived, Christopher came along. And for 27 years that's what it's been, the four of them - two kids, two parents. No matter that college took the kids away. And then their jobs. No matter that they have their own apartments.

They were still four.

Forty days and the family tree sprouts another branch. The invitation arrived last week, pink and ribboned and pretty. One chapter ends and another begins. And though it will be a wonderful chapter, the main characters won't be mom and dad anymore.

"Mom, come here," Tara shouts. She's in her old room trying on her wedding gown. When Jill sees her, standing in front of the mirror, she cries. But not because in 40 days she will lose this. She will never lose, "Mom, come here. Mom, I need "

But because, like mothers of daughters everywhere, she knows how blessed she's been.