The Wedding Day

It was a day that would be mine. A day everyone revolved around me, a day I had dreamt about since I can remember, my wedding day. I was madly in love with my soon to be husband. He was tall, dark, and handsome, every girls dream. The best part about it was he was all mine, and would be forever. Everything was going to be perfect; it would be a beautiful day. There was only going to be one not so little problem. Who was going to walk me down the aisle?

My father would be the logical answer, however we got in an argument about three and a half years ago. My father was about my height, and the nicest man in the whole world. He had a big bald spot on the middle of his head and enormous bright blue eyes that could be seen from miles away. Stubborn was what he was; it was his only fault but a big one at that.

"If that's how you want it to be, then I am never going to see or speak to you again as long as I live." Those were the last words my father had ever spoken to me. His words were like a knife to my chest. Heartbroken, I drove home crying that night. Before it got better, it got much worse. I missed him like crazy, but with my stubborn attitude too i was not going to go against his wishes.

However, the day would come that I was going to need him to walk me down the aisle. I still loved my father very much, and the past three and a half years had been the hardest of my life. Procrastinating, every day it seemed as though I would say, "No, today doesn't seem right. I'll go tomorrow." Enough was enough. I would see my father that day, and that was that.

I got into the little red Honda civic he had bought me for my twenty first birthday. Inside the car was messier than anyone could imagine. I grasped onto the steering wheel for dear life while driving over to his house. My palms were sweating bullets. Shaking was my foot on the gas and break pedals. Halfway there, I turned around and decided today was not a good day.

Uncontrollably crying, I pulled over onto the side of a little dirt rode. How had I let it get this bad? Not speaking to my father for three and a half years, I was better than that. I took a few long deep breaths and decided to go back. I pulled up; he was sitting on an old blue rocking chair. It was the same chair he would rock me on every Sunday after Church. The blue had faded, and it looked as though it was falling apart. Grayer, shorter, and heavier was my father. I sat there and stared for about fifteen long minutes until he saw me. Slowly, I got out of the car and said, "Hey there Dad."

Surprised yet excited, he limped over to see me. He gave me a huge hug and kept saying, "I'm sorry baby, I'm so sorry." Those were the only words I needed, and it was then that I was sure I was not going to be walking down the aisle alone.