It became apparent the dream I carried in my tiny adolescent heart of my dad walking me down the aisle wasn’t going to be my reality. David and I had postponed our engagement for me to focus on being present with my family during this time. Even though the wedding was temporarily halted, I had already gone dress shopping months prior. I hadn’t paid for the dress, just tried it on and twirled around it when I was out visiting with a girlfriend. I sat on the kitchen counters with hot tears pouring down my cheeks, heartbroken at the new reality Dad wouldn’t be there to walk me down the aisle. Within minutes, Mom was on the phone like the fairy Godmother she is, paying for and overnighting the dress.
Only two days later, Mom handed me the wedding dress she overnighted from Denver. I hid away in the bathroom and stepped into my lace dream dress while I applied waterproof mascara. Feet away, Mom helped Dad into his suit in the room next door. I could hear her preparing him for the moments to come, making space for his heart to breathe in the sacred moments of waiting to see his baby girl as a bride. I remember it feeling as though there wasn’t enough air in the world. I kept losing my breath and choking on my tears. Brain cancer had robbed us of a lot of moments, but it couldn’t rob us of our final dance.
My nails weren’t painted and I curled my hair myself in between wiping away the seemingly endless stream of tears. It wasn’t staged or super fancy. But it was heart and soul packed into a few holy moments. It was a dad doing what he always did best, sweeping his girl off her feet one last time.
All the months of physical therapy, all the miles he rode on his bike post-stroke to regain strength, all the hours he pressed through the pain was all worth it for to stand on his strong, yet shaky feet and dance me around the dining room one last time. We prayed together over my future and wept, while I begged and pleaded with God to heal him. I mean, how do you dance on the edge of heaven with someone you love and selfishly not ever want the music to stop? We both trusted in the goodness of God whether the cancer miraculously left or not. We also faced the reality that time was falling and we wanted to catch every last drop and savor it. So we did the best we knew how. We laughed with swollen eyes. Stepped on each other toes to Sinatra. Sobbed hysterically. Made promises he’d still walk me down the aisle.
Days later, we walked my dad straight into the arms of Jesus, carrying him over the threshold into eternity. We piled onto the bed as a family while he took his last breaths on this side of heaven. The sky lit up in every color of pink and orange over the vast blue inland sea that night, seemingly announcing his safe arrival home. Months later, Mom whispered into my ear as the sky broke as we made our way down the aisle, ‘Heaven has the best seat today. See love, Dad’s still here.’ When you look at my wedding photos, the locket of him and I is perfectly lit by that sun.
That same abundant grace has woven into the tapestry of our story even as the years have passed since Dad’s death. We received our foster care license in the mail on Dad’s birthday, a dream I know he’d be cheering wildly for. Now as we await the adoption of our fifth babe through foster care, it is set to finalize right around his birthday again. Coincidence? Maybe. Winks from heaven? More likely. We’ve also raised half a million dollars in honor of his legacy — choosing joy, spreading hope, and ending hunger for children in our community through Project Joy.
When I look over our story and see the boy who got Dad’s blessing in that hospital room as my best friend and husband almost a decade later. When I see the babies I get to raise who carry dad’s dimples and stubbornness. And when I see the brave words my dad wrote, ‘I choose joy,’ putting into motion a fierceness in my mama to fight childhood hunger in our community — I see redemption blooming up from the ashes. We didn’t get the miracle we prayed for this side of heaven, but the miracles we have seen are too many to log or keep track of. Beauty and goodness have blossomed where death tried to claim victory.
