Weddings and White Castles

My sister got married this weekend. I was honored to be the person who walked her down the aisle. I could never fill Dad’s shoes, but I did rock some killer tennis shoes he would have loved. The party was a blast, everyone danced, drank, ate, drank, partied, drank…and ended the evening with White Castles. All in all, it was a party Dad would have been proud of.

We missed his killer dance moves. But my mom did order him a plate, and he had a seat of honor right next to her. He probably missed her looking like a movie star.

But he would have been overshadowed by her beauty, anyway. So it was probably best he was there in spirit only. He would have just been background noise to our awesome, right?

My father was always behind the camera, taking pictures of everyone and documenting every milestone he could. On Christmas mornings, we weren’t allowed to come into the room until he had set the tripod and video camera up in just the right spot so that no one missed anything. At the time I thought it was annoying. Now, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if we recently found a video tape of him, my mother, and two of their friends painting the ceiling in our living room. No, really, it’s hours of them painting the ceiling. We won’t even delve into the hours of him and their friends playing Risk that we found, as well. When we say he documented everything – we really mean EVERYTHING.

This also meant that he was absent from a lot of pictures. But that didn’t stop him from showing up in almost every roll of film. Before the invention of smart phones and self-facing cameras that man still took a selfie as often as possible. You’d pick a roll of film up and there’d be 25 of me opening my birthday presents, then his mug, then more present pictures. He was king of the selfie before the selfie was a thing. When he passed away, we had an entire board at the funeral home dedicated to selfies that we found going back to the 70s.

It only seemed fitting, then, that when I walked my sister down the aisle – we would take a selfie. And we did. The music started, everyone stood, we took a step out, and everyone looked back at her. And who could blame them, she looked amazing. And then we walked her down the aisle to get married. Just kidding, first – let us take a selfie.

The ceremony was beautiful, full of laughter, and some tears. It’s hard to not feel like we’re losing another member of our family as we “let her go” (and no, I’m not singing Frozen songs – trust me) but we know she’s in good hands. Dad would have been proud of her, of her husband, and of me for not tripping as I walked her down the aisle.

When we got to the front of the fireplace where they were married, her husband-to-be was choked up. I can’t say I blame him. She joked, under her breath, that it was because he realized he’d been duped into this. I added in he was probably just tearing up because he realized there was no way out now. But really it was because she looked stunning and he loves her almost as much as our family does. I say almost as much because he didn’t have to listen to her slamming doors as a teenager. And he never saw how mad she gets at me when I make a bad joke at her expense. Which, to be fair, is pretty often.

I am not, surprise, a wedding lover. And talking about it for the last year, as Dad had just passed – was not something I was incredibly open and supportive about. Luckily my mom and sister were focused and paid attention to every detail. My job was over when I sat down next to my mother and I could just enjoy watching the two of them profess their love for each other. I was so happy to see everyone being so happy FOR her. I snuck a picture of her man of honor holding her flowers. Mainly just to be funny that he had to hold a bouquet of flowers for so long.

But when I looked back at it, the expression of pure joy he has on his face is priceless. And it sums up the feeling that I think everyone had. They were happy. We were, of course, sad that Dad couldn’t be there. But he was. For every moment of it. I know it would have been nice if he could have sat next to my mom and held her hand. So they could be proud and (I’m sure) also a little bit sad to see her get married to someone she has loved for so long. Instead, she was stuck with just me. But I was glad she was there for me to hold her hand. Sometimes you get wrapped up in your own thoughts and feelings and you forget about everything else happening in the world. Or at least everything happening in your world. I hope, for you, that if and when that happens – you have a moment like I did on Saturday. When something so good breaks through all of that and you can feel happy for other people. And I am. I’m happy that they’re happy. I’m happy that my friends and family had such a great time. I’m happy that someone else did my hair and made it look so spectacular. But mainly, I just felt happy. It wasn’t a day for me, by any means. It was her day and it went off without a hitch. But I do feel like I got a present filled with happy. And I suppose a brother. I always asked my parents for an older brother. But I suppose that ship has sailed and I’ll have to make do with that I got. Just kidding, he’s way taller than me – so I suppose that’s a big brother, right?

It was a wonderful day. My mother (and sister) know how to throw a party. I think Dad would have been proud to be a part of it. And I’m not just saying that because we’re a good looking bunch. But also because he would have been proud of all of us. Mainly them, they did all the work. But he always cut me a bunch of slack. So I think he would have lumped me into that group, too.

My sister was thoughtful and incorporated so many things that my father loved. For her bridal shower, my mother and I gave her a Doctor Who scarf from Dad’s favorite Doctor.

She rocked it. I’m not even being biased as a big sister. She really rocked it. And her friend made her a killer set of Tardis heels for the ceremony. Dad would have been completely geeked out. I should have taken a picture of Brittany and the shoes, but instead I think you’ll have to settle for a selfie of her and I.

It was a wonderful weekend. And I’m proud to say my little sister is all grown up. Well, I’m using that term loosely. She did wear a Spongebob shirt to brunch yesterday with a #Swag logo. But we wouldn’t have her any other way.

Let's have one final moment of "holy crap she looks beautiful" and p.s., your Dad's showing, Emily. 

Oh The Places You'll Go

Today is a year to the day of Dad's funeral. A lot has changed in a year. We've been places, we've grieved, we've laughed, we've made new friends, we've cherished old relationships, we've heard stories we didn't know about Dad, we've finally gotten past the routine that used to be our old life. 

It's been over 52 weeks since I had to clean a trach, or make Dad a smoothie. It's been 365 days since my Mom said "Hey, let's harass your Dad and put him in the wheelchair and take him outside." 

Dad has, however, been on an few field trips. 

He went to work with me

He went out to breakfast with Emily, Mom, and I

He went out to coffee with my friends 

 

I would like to say I took him (most of) these places on purpose. But really, I put him in my purse one day and there he's stayed. At first it was because I forgot...and if you know me? You know there's one of everything in my purse. It's a Mary Poppins bag. Only Mary Poppins (probably) didn't have a dead guy in her bag. Who knows though. Where DID that spoonful of sugar really come from? We'll never know. Then it just became a habit to jokingly pull him out at places and say I brought my Dad along. Most recently, it's been more of a sense of comfort, perhaps. Knowing he's always there. 

And he is, not just in mini-urn-to-freak-out-friends fashion - but in my  heart. I felt like my heart would break into a million bits the day he died. Instead it grew larger. So that I could carry him, his memories, his love wherever I went. 

In exactly a week, I'll take him with me - probably in both heart and urn - when I walk my baby sister down the aisle. It's not the wedding I ever envisioned. I always thought that Dad would be there. And that we'd see his terrible Dad dancing when their first dance happened. But he will be there. In spirit, and in our memories. And in the terrible jokes I am going to say the entire way down the aisle with her. I'm sure that he would approve. He'd probably disown me if I didn't. And in his memory, I think after I give her away (I've been trying to get people to pay for years, but no luck. I suppose I'll have to go for just giving her away at this point.) I'll say "First, let's take a selfie." I hope that Pastor Duane is ready for us next week. 

And I hope I can do half as good as he would have at telling her how proud he is of her, how much he loved her, how much we'll all miss having her around all the time. And not just because someone has to be the butt of all my jokes. But because she's my little sister. The only person that shares my Mom and Dad's blood with me. The only person who knows my Dad the way I do. Although, to be fair - we can eat gluten without guilt once she's gone. And Dad would have agreed that this is a win. 

We'll probably have to make Dad's urn a tiny suit. He always said that he only wore suits to funerals and weddings. I'd like to imagine he looks a bit like this next week, when we all gather together to finally give my sister away. 

That face he's making? It's him saying: Stop taking pictures. Knock it off. Or maybe it's: How'd I get such a pretty lady to stand next to me? (Hi, Mom!)

If only they'd kept that gift receipt 23 years ago. I'd be an only child. And my life would be less full. (Of jokes. CHECK!)