The craziness of it all had distracted me, until the moment I walked my daughter down the aisle, or, in this case, across the bridge.

I watched the rain pelt my Fort Wayne, Ind., hotel room window the morning of the wedding, and considered the relentless obstacles already surmounted — canceled flights, crazy ladies, dress drama, the “Flower Nazi,” and now, wild weather threatened the wedding.

A quaint, open-to-the-sky pedestrian bridge held strong symbolism for the newlyweds-to-be, the bridging of two lives. They’d accept no other venue. There was no Plan B in case of rain.

Trouble began when my wife’s flight to Fort Wayne was canceled. We drove to Providence and back to Bradley Airport, whipping the airlines like rented mules until she was in the air.

I left Bradley two days later, assigned Mission Impossible: escort two female friends to the event. The same two who had gotten me thrown out of a “Serenity Area” on a cruise ship because “serene” is not in their bag of tricks.

Both professional shoppers, I texted their husbands with surveillance reports, as promised. We arrived in Fort Wayne late, and awoke the day before the wedding.

Seinfeld had the “Soup Nazi,” but we found the “Flower Nazi.” Our adventures began with a surly florist who was to help the wedding party make their own centerpieces and bouquets.

Some of us escaped to run errands. I drove three raucous ladies, fumbling around with Google maps on cell phones, through unfamiliar territory. All shouting at once. We usually saw our destination just after we passed it, to hoots and howls.

The serenity area rabble-rousers almost got me thrown out of a Fresh Market after causing considerable mayhem at the cookie display.

Later, rescuing my wife from the Flower Nazi, we were to pick up the wedding dress, but found the store closed early. Panic ensued. The owner was contacted by phone and, hearing frantic screeching, responded to open shop.

With relentless rain ongoing, we held the rehearsal that evening, inside a restaurant after the rehearsal dinner.

The morning of the wedding, gusting winds shook me from my rain-on-the-window trance, and I wandered down to breakfast to find the hotel roof leaking. We laughed, eating under umbrellas. Power was intermittent, the elevators too risky. Our room was up five flights of stairs.

It was time to deliver the wedding dress pronto. Traffic lights were out, leaving roads clogged with cars. We took unknown detours, battling fallen trees and limbs, some blocking streets.

We arrived late, but by mid-afternoon the wedding party and guests converged on the bridge as the rain tapered off. With everybody in place, the ceremony began under brightening clouds, and the rain miraculously stopped, umbrellas cast aside.

As I walked the bride onto the bridge, a balladeer strummed a guitar and sang, the sound muted in the humid air. The craziness over, reality hit me.

This beautiful woman on my arm was the same little girl I pushed in a stroller; whose diapers I changed; for whom I learned the most basic hair braid so we could get by while Mom worked; with whom I rode Disney’s “It’s a Small World” ride forever because it was her favorite and the other rides were too scary.

Standing on that bridge, I finally realized she wasn’t my little girl anymore. She was getting married.

I couldn’t blame my tears on the rain. Over a year later, I can barely see these words I’m writing.

Crazy as it seems sometimes, life is such a precious journey.

Contact John at tossinglines@gmail.com or visit www.johnsteward.online.