“The real vows were in their eyes.”
On the morning of her Irish wedding, Patricia was awakened by a ray of sunlight that broke through the window—a rare and welcome omen in a land famous for its clouds. In her charming room at a countryside inn, she was surrounded by her mother, who was busy fussing over her dress, and her best friend from Germany, whose duty it was to make sure Patricia actually ate something.
"You're trembling," her mother said in German, her hands gently adjusting Patricia's hair.
"I'm about to marry a Corr, Mutti," Patricia whispered. "I think trembling is understandable."
But her nervousness was no longer about their family status. It was a beautiful kind of nervousness—the pure anticipation of saying her vows to the man who had captured her heart.
The small church in rural County Louth looked like something out of a fairytale. Its old stone walls were decorated with arrangements of white and green wildflowers. The air inside was cool, scented with lilies and centuries-old wood. Guests from Germany and Ireland had mingled, creating a melodious murmur of two languages.
When the church doors opened, all sound ceased. Patricia stood at the threshold, her arm linked tightly with her father's. Then, the music began.
It wasn't a typical wedding song from a speaker. It was the sound of a string quartet, playing live. And on first violin, with a proud smile, sat Sharon Corr, playing a beautiful melody she had composed especially for this moment.