I haven't blogged in a few weeks, because I can't find the right words to say what I think I need to say. I still don't have them. Nothing I can type here today will ever be big enough, or right enough to honestly reflect the way my heart and head have been lately.
I have experienced a whole lot of heartbreak in my day. From broken relationships, to personal failures, and many unanswered questions filling all the space between. Nothing could have prepared me for what the last two weeks has laid out in front of me. I'm a tough girl. I have spent 24 years creating the thickest layers of skin to shield me along the way. But there are things in life, as I am learning, that no amount of protection can prevent from happening. And from making you feel like someone just kicked you in the chest at full force. I still wake up every morning, and put on my game face. I smile and laugh through work and play - and it's only a few moments throughout the day that I let it in. But when those moments happen I am left breathless.
Life is too short. There never seems to be enough time. The reality I am starting to gather the strength to wrap my head around is that you can't count on any moment you picture in your head for the future. Whether it be the perfect wedding dress, or holding your first baby in your arms. There is no promise that you or anyone else will get to those points. Not that you shouldn't hold on to them, or hope that someday they come true. But if we could paint the perfect pictures of life, and they would come true on hopes and dreams alone, we would all be millionaires, celebrities, and stand up comedians. The sad reality is that there is no promise that anyone can make for you, or you can make for yourself, that can truly be kept. And that is really fucking depressing.
All I can do, all anyone can do, is try to make every moment count. As cliche as that is to say. You need to fight and hope and pray - even if there is no promise. Even when the chances of that hope or promise are a lousy 9%. I will most likely not get walked down the aisle at my wedding on the arm of my father. This thought has broken my heart, every minute, of every day for the past 14. And though that mental image of us dancing to 'Forever Young' in my beautiful red (sorry Mom) dress will never leave my head, it will keep me praying harder than ever until the day I have to accept that as one picture I have painted that I will never be able to physically hang on the wall.
Today my dad took me shopping for a dress to wear at my birthday party tomorrow. It wasn't a wedding dress. His eyes didn't well up with tears when I walked out of the dressing room to have him zip up the back. But we laughed as we crossed through the mall, and we spoke honestly to each other across chicken sandwiches and waffle fries. More important than any picture, promise, hope, or dream I may conjure up in my head is just knowing that he loves me. And him knowing that I love him. And I feel so incredibly blessed that this is breaking my heart, because that means I have a dad that did something right.
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