What I'd Say on My Wedding Day

Mom's still here, I swear she is.

I honestly enjoyed drawing this. :)

So I’ve been embarrassingly daydreaming about the possibilities with a potential date I’ll be going on, on Tuesday.¹

While watching an artist vlog a portion of her friend’s wedding, I placed myself in the couple’s shoes as they looked at each other lovingly on the dancefloor and thought how WILD it would be if this potential first date became something more down the line.

How so much would change, and how much has already changed since mom passed.

I always think about how stagnant life would’ve stayed if mom were still here, and this goes way beyond a debilitating illness attempting to keep her still.

I sometimes wonder what life would’ve been like if she were alive to witness these changes and growth, but I immediately shut them down. Reminding myself they wouldn’t have ever happened on the same timeline we existed in together.

But I still think about the empty chair reserved for those in heaven placed at the front of wedding ceremonies, and the one that would be reserved for her if I were ever to get married.

And I realized a plaque on a chair wouldn’t be enough; she doesn’t need just a “reservation.” I’d feel she’d need an explanation.

So on my wedding day, I’d say:

Mom couldn’t physically be here today, but miraculously, she’s never left.

I don’t mean this as a sweet pleasantry to the dead. Based on what I’ve experienced since she’s been gone, and knowing how much she needed to run and control people’s lives, I know she’s been orchestrating a lot since leaving us in our grounded places here on earth.

I mean, there’s no way she wouldn’t!

She’s either in control now, or sitting side by side with God letting Him in on her insights.

It would explain why traffic is almost always so clear for me no matter what time of day I’m on the road as a new driver.

It explains why and how grandpa left us–swiftly and in little pain–so he wouldn’t, and couldn’t, hurt himself or (accidentally) anyone else as his body began to shut down.

It explains how I’ve been able to meet interesting and kind people during brave moments of going out to meet new people alone.

It explains the butterfly walking up to my finger and refusing to leave.

It explains the two hummingbirds that visited my flowerless window the week after grandpa left us, too.

It explains the perfect therapist I found.

It explains why dad and I both ended up having the same therapist without knowing at all for weeks.

It explains how we suddenly found the perfect hair salon with amazing barbers after decades of coming and going to all sorts of people who do hair.

It explains why an even better barber showed up for me (after my initial one left) to get my hair exactly how I’d always wanted it to look, making me feel myself for the first time in years.

It explains why I get compliments on my hair since then–even from guys!

A feat, because when I initially wanted to cut my hair short, my mom worried that only lesbians would want me. She cautioned me to wear plenty of makeup so I looked more feminine.

But my mom’s worldview has been expanded since her next chapter started. I just know it.

She told herself so many stories, keeping her and those around her stuck. But now I bet she sees that my decision to wear my hair short was okay after all. Guys still find interest in me, I love myself more this way, and it hurt no one in the process to decide something for myself.

She now sees that therapy is SO beneficial. She sees that her daughter can drive. Can run errands on her own.

And I believe she’s had a hand in all of this–she can’t help herself!

She’s seen what can be possible in a life outside of the stories she’d shackle herself to and wants in! And luckily, she now sees more of the world than we can ever fathom, and it feels like she now has the power to move things in her favor for her loved ones.

So I thank her so much since she’s been gone for letting go so we both could live life more freely. Her away from the disease that changed her, and me from the aftermath the disease caused in all of our lives.

Her final exhale was the greatest release for all of us.

Thanks for everything, mom.

1. Just kidding. It’s the next day as I initially typed this, and we’re no longer going on a date. But we will be hanging out together as friends instead! :)