Harry and Meghan

I was so moved by the wedding of Harry and Meghan. There were so many moments: Meghan's mother, Doria Ragland, her eyes shining with emotion as she watched her daughter marry the English prince. I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was just so solitary and beaming and dignified, valiantly trying to contain the wonder and love bursting out of her. She was Meghan's only blood relative in that grand sanctuary, and she was enough. Meghan had all the support she needed in Doria.

Then there was Prince Harry's face when he saw Meghan, the small quick smile of relief that this was finally underway, she was here. Oh, and the way Meghan had walked into the church alone, with her friend's twins holding aloft her sixteen-foot train. She was powerful. A woman in charge of herself. And as she drew next to Harry, the way he looked at her and said, "You look amazing," and bit his lip, oh my God so sexy, and said, "I'm so lucky." As so many people said yesterday, find you a love who looks at you the way Harry looks at Meghan.

Mostly unspoken was the memory of the solemn child walking behind his mother's casket so many years ago, his ginger hair bright in the sun, his eyes deep in shadow. That hurt little boy was happy now.

Other moments: The way Harry removed Meghan's veil, his care for her showing in the small adjustment. The kiss at the top of the steps; they both closed their eyes. Again his care and attention as they descended the steps, and climbed into the horse drawn carriage, Harry helping Meghan navigate her dress and train, simple and elegant yet still voluminous and treacherous to movement.

More highlights: The black gospel choir singing a shiver-inducing rendition of "Stand By Me." Episcopal bishop Michael Curry bringing the cadence of the black church to his sermon on love. The young cellist, Sheku Kanneh-Mason, 19, playing "Ave Maria," my mother's favorite. Two little brown girls among the children who marched up the aisle behind the bride. The hymns that I could sing by heart from my own churched childhood and years at an Anglican school. The carriage ride through the town of Windsor, the bride and groom relaxing into each other. And later, that stunning Stella McCartney number that Meghan stepped out in for the evening reception, her shoulders glorious, and Harry looking like his feet weren't quite touching the ground, and he couldn't wait to get her to himself.

Last night, my husband, a true romantic, watched the entire ceremony with me, beginning to end. We both knew how Harry and Meghan were feeling, the joy and soul-deep comfort of being each other's safe harbor. This morning, I had a wedding hangover. I opened my eyes and smiled.