There won't be any pictures like this at my wedding.
Because my Daddy won't be there.
I haven't talked about my Dad on here in some time so I imagine there's a lot of people who don't know the whole story there. When I was 10, only a handful of months after my Mommy told me she and my Dad were getting a divorce, he suffered a massive stroke.
It left him a crippled shell of the Daddy who played us funny songs on his guitar, was the worst tickler you ever did meet and taught me how to ride my bike. He walked with a limp, couldn't say our names and was completely devoid of any distinguishable personality.
Fourteen years later, I invited him to my wedding and received a call from him saying he just couldn't make the trip.
I thought I would be okay with it. My Dad can be a pain in the ass. But as it turns out, it felt awful hearing my Daddy repeat over and over again "I'm sorry. Don't cry." Don't cry. The same words he spoke to me when I fell while rollerskating and skinned my knees. The twenty-something, almost-married lady in me tried to fight back the tears. But the buck-toothed, freckle-faced and wounded little girl in me won.
A girl is supposed to have her Daddy. To walk her down the aisle. To give her away. To share an emotional and heartfelt Father-Daughter dance with.
And it's hard.
The silver lining is- I have a wonderful, supportive and amazing step-father to do all those things with and I am so blessed that he's a part of my life.
But there will be a small part of me that will be tinged with sadness when I stare into the crowd at my wedding ceremony and wonder where my Daddy is.