My family is fairly small.

I’ve never had children of my own, but I have two nieces and have always seen their growth as a happy barometer of time passing. Watching the next generation blossom and branch out, I think, is a special joy (and privilege) as one ages.

My nieces lost their mother twelve years ago. Emma was four and a half. Liz was around sixteen. My sister Barb, over seven years older than me, became their go-to person as they grew up; attending their recitals and concerts, helping them shop for clothes, and, I suspect, even giving them advice about health and body issues.

Sometimes, I wish I could have been more of a support to them during these years, but I know my life was less stable than my sister’s and understand why things played out the way they did. While not on their top five text lists, I know they think of me fondly.

I have been missing Liz lately. I am very proud of her in ways I probably haven’t shared with her. She didn’t exactly raise herself, but she did so many things on her own so that she could be fully launched into the adult world.

She went away to college, not cross-state like I did, but on the east coast, meaning home retreats occurred very seldom. She found a job after graduating in a very difficult market, adopted a shelter dog and took on the responsibilities of her care, went to grad school, managed a dating life (which included a few difficult personalities), and moved…and moved…and moved.

After going to George Washington University, she came back to the Chicago area until she moved to Tennessee for grad school. She just recently moved to South Carolina when her boyfriend (now her fiancé) got a new job.

This is an incredible sign of maturity to me, especially considering she is somewhat of a homebody. She has moved because changing goals or circumstances meant she needed to make her home in different places. It meant she had to create a sense of home wherever she landed.

Just a few weeks ago, she sent my sister Barb a picture-gram, an emailed photo of her left hand sporting an engagement ring. It was not unexpected, yet the timing was a bit of a surprise. That was, it turned out, just the first surprise. Neither Barb nor I thought she would be coordinating a wedding production any time soon (after all, she just moved), but only a few weeks after receiving the picture-gram of the ring, an early spring event in picturesque Asheville, North Carolina claimed a date in Barb’s and my calendars.

She flew to Chicago on a recent weekend to go dress shopping with my sister Barb, one of her besties, Katie, and Lynne, one of Liz’s mother’s besties (who also happens to be Katie’s mother). Liz and I exchanged the following texts referring to the over-the-top cable show featuring fitting room scenes of brides to be and their entourages.

Me: Thank God you have seen a few episodes of Say YES to the Dress so you know how things are supposed to go down. Have a great shopping excursion.  Liz:  Haha. I know!  I am not into this whole dress thing but hopefully I will find something tolerable. LOL.

After a few mimosas to cut the stress, it seemed she found more than a tolerable dress. She found a frock that made her feel pretty and feminine and, for lack of a better word, bride-like. One of her fitting room accomplices emailed me a behind-the-scenes snap that sort of says it all. I think it will be an image I will cherish more than the official event photography.

I wasn’t there, but I sort of felt like I was. Thanks to a cell phone camera, I got to share a special moment with my niece who I don’t get to see near often enough.

Seeing Liz say YES to the dress with her eyes is no small thing.