Someday I am going to get married. And it will be the greatest day of my life. I'm not one of those girls that planned out her wedding at the age of 9. I don't have a scrapbook of flower arrangements, or even an idea of what I would want my dress to look like. I don't know if I want to get married in the spring, or in the winter, or on a beach, or in an igloo. I have none of the finer details planned. But I know it will be the greatest day of my life because it will be the day that I stand in front of every person that matters to me and I will look into the eyes of the person that matters the most. Because the only thing I've ever truly wanted - more than a career, or a nice car or house - is to fall in love with someone and then grow old with them. To clasp our wrinkly hands together as we take walks around the mall for exercise. That person that will help me grow, inspire me to be better, and in the worst case scenario hold my hand after 32 years of marriage as I suffer through a terminal illness. It will be the greatest day of my life.
The thing is, whether my veil falls perfectly over my face, and my future husband's eyes well up with tears just slightly as I start my ascend down the aisle; it has the potential, at best, to be an almost perfect day. Because even though I haven't obsessed over what the wedding would be as much as that it just would be, the only thing that's always been there are the parts that have to do with your dad. Your dad walks you down the aisle. When the officiant says "Who gives this woman's hand in marriage?" your dad says "Her mother and I do." And then he lifts your veil, and his eyes well up with tears just a little, too. And then he watches a man promise to love and take care of his daughter for as long as they both shall live. And then he holds you close for a daddy/daughter dance and tells you how beautiful you look that day. That's what's supposed to happen at your wedding. At least that's what it is for me. Or what I would want it to be. But I am not everyone. And I am never going to judge how someone wants to have the best day of their life. But it's hard to look around, to not just friends but family and see what hurts almost the most about losing my dad: those moments that I will never get to have.
When we had the benefit for him just a few weeks back I had really wanted to dance with my dad to Rod Stewart's "Forever Young" as that was the song I always imagined we would dance to at my wedding. It seemed a bit sappy, and lord knows I don't want to remind the guy any more than he already knows that we aren't going to get that moment together later in life. So with the confidence of an onslaught of old friends and family's love and support, and perhaps a few Corona's, the DJ turned it on and my dad and I danced. And we talked, and we laughed, and we cried a little. And the most amazing part is my wonderful friend recorded all four and half minutes of it. So of all those dad moments I am going to miss out on one day at my wedding, after I have the first dance with my husband, I will get to have that dance again with my dad. I got to have that dance, in a Moose Lodge in Berwyn. And now I get to share that dance with him again at my wedding. It will be the greatest day of my life. But it won't be perfect.
I understand that my reaction to weddings these days is amplified with the loss I am experiencing. And the fact of the matter is, with no prospects on the horizon for marriage anytime soon, it's not something that should consume my thoughts or cause me this much frustration. So you strip away the event. You strip away whether it was done in a court house, or a destination wedding. Whether there were or will be first dances. Whether it's in front of a hundred people or in front of nobody. That person that I choose to be with, no matter how we choose do it, will never shake my dad's hand. And I'll never really know if he likes the guy or just tolerates him because he thinks he makes me happy. That, I promise you, is harder to accept than the thought of any missed photo opportunity at my wedding.
I guess the point I am trying to make is that when you are going through something traumatic sometimes even just the idea of something can be a fierce reminder of something so much bigger and harder. At the end of the day, still sans scrapbook, I know my wedding will be the greatest day of my life. I have to change my expectations a bit. I mean, I've already settled on less than perfect. But my qualifications for perfect aren't everyone's. And I really do hope they have the best day of their lives.
