Dear Daddy,
I never thought the day would come where I’d live without you. Now it’s been almost seven years and I’ve learned to live without you every single day. I’ve gone through many highs and lows since you’ve been gone, but I never thought this one would hit me so hard – until it did.
I’m getting married. He’s the most amazing, understanding, caring person I’ve ever met and I just know you hand picked him from heaven for me. He’s truly my angel and he’s changed my life in ways I never thought were possible. Every girl dreams of a man like him, and I was lucky enough to find him. Every dad wishes for a husband like him for their daughter. I wish he could’ve met you and so does he; he grieves you every day with me. He seeks the approval of my family, and I can only imagine the bond that you two would have shared if you were still here.
Do you remember when I was a little girl and I would dream of my wedding day? I thought I did, but ever since you’ve been gone, I couldn’t even imagine it. All that crossed my mind was how every girl is supposed to have their dad walk them down the aisle, give their baby girl away and have one last dance together. My heart breaks every time I think about how I won’t get to share that with you. I can’t even be at a wedding anymore. Every time the father-daughter dance gets announced, before it even starts I run out of the room trying to hold back tears before I can get outside to let them go. It kills me inside to know there are girls that get to share that with their dad, but I can’t. It’s not fair. I can remember dancing with you in the kitchen, my feet on top of yours as we spun in circles while we made dinner together. Those are the good memories I hold on to. You were my hero, my coach, my best friend and the most important man in my life. A dad is a little girl’s first love, and you’ll always be that to me.
Now, once I said “yes” to the man of my dreams and the “honeymoon phase” wore off, I realized I had a wedding to plan but absolutely no idea how. I couldn’t fathom the thought of planning something without you there. I closed my eyes and I tried to put myself in a place where I felt like I’d feel you with me in spirit. That place? – A beach. [After all, life’s a beach, you know?] After you passed, my “happy place” was picturing you walking down the beach on my most favorite vacation we ever went on; the waves crashed upon your feet with your hands in your pockets, soaking in the beauty of the ocean and the sand between your toes. I kept thinking of that happy place, and realized a beach far away from home would be even better. The one big peeve of mine as I was trying to imagine my wedding was that I didn’t want 200 people staring at me as I walk down the aisle giving me that look. [Those who have lost a parent know which one I’m talking about. The one that says, “I’m so sorry your dad isn’t here, I know how much he would love to be here if he could” – but he can’t. Or, “I know how much it hurts” when they don’t.] I know as I’m walking down the sand on a private Caribbean island that I’ll feel you next to me more than I ever would anywhere close to home.
Want to know the most ironic part about our wedding? (Most might find this part a little morbid, but hear me out) I’m getting married the day after your death anniversary. Most don’t know that, but all the close family that will be there does. Feeling close to you in spirit is not only key to location, but also key to time of year. In years past, I’ve broken down every single anniversary to the point that I became a blubbering, vulnerable, legitimately depressed mess. December was my weakness, my "kryptonite" if you will, and every year I was helpless. I thought about you day in and out, wondering what you’d say to me throughout all of my triumphs and failures as I reflected on another year that you missed out on. I wondered if your face would be scruffy as I pressed mine against yours for another big bear hug. I heard your voice ring in my head as you told me “love ya, babe”. What I would’ve given to have another year with you is limitless. You died, and a part of me did, too.
With that being said, I didn’t want to be depressed anymore, and I know you wouldn’t want me to be. This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, and I’ll be damned if it isn’t as happy as I can possibly make it. I wanted to live, truly live, and my soon to be husband was every reason for it. He gave me my spark back, my reason to want to be a better person. December is not allowed to be a depressing time anymore for not only me, but my family -- at least not this year. This year, I will heal. This year, we will celebrate. We’ll celebrate a new life together as husband and wife, while we remember yours.
We set sail on a cruise with 40 of our closest friends and family on the day you died 7 years ago. The next day is our wedding. I’ll be remembering you constantly, wishing you were with me physically, but knowing you’re there in spirit. Losing you at 17 was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced, and I miss you more every single day, but picturing you walking alongside me on the beach with sand between our toes, I know I won’t be alone. Please watch over us from heaven and celebrate with us. I planned this wedding for you, and for everyone missing you.
I love you,
Your baby girl
PS - I’ll save a dance for you.
