My mother-in-law is getting married at 70.
Can you believe that?
I was shocked, honestly.
She lives in a care home now.
She met a man there.
Now they are planning a wedding.
She even bought a wedding dress.
A proper white gown, at her age.
It feels so silly to me.
Shouldn’t she act her age?
Instead, she’s chasing some old fantasy.
“I feel young again,” she told me.
I just stared at her.
“Mum, you’re seventy,” I said.
“So what?” she replied.
“People will talk,” I said.
“Let them,” she said.
Her new man is called Gerald.
He’s cheerful, always smiling.
He holds her hand constantly.
It almost embarrasses me.
My husband seems fine with it.
“She’s happy,” he keeps saying.
“Happy isn’t everything,” I told him.
He looked confused by that.
“What else matters more?” he asked.
I didn’t have a good answer.
Still, something felt wrong to me.
Think of the money spent.
That dress wasn’t cheap.
The venue, the flowers, the cake.
All for a late-life wedding.
Couldn’t that money help the grandchildren?
School fees, savings, something useful.
Instead it’s spent on lace and roses.
Am I being unreasonable here?
Or is this truly inappropriate?
My sister-in-law disagrees with me.
“She earned this joy,” she said.
“At seventy?” I asked her.
“Especially at seventy,” she said firmly.
I went quiet after that.
Maybe I’m just old-fashioned.
Maybe love doesn’t check calendars.
Still, I watched my mother-in-law.
She laughed with Gerald, glowing.
She looked truly, deeply happy.
I didn’t expect that feeling.
Now I’m not so sure anymore.
Maybe she’s not foolish.
Maybe I’m just scared of change.