a year ago my parents walked me down the aisle.
to be honest not a life-long, childhood dream for me, a so-called budding feminist. this thanks to a Dad who raised me to believe that a girl could grow up and be whatever she wanted to be. gender notwithstanding. and getting married would have only slowed me down…
but yes, I knew that if ever I did change my mind I wanted Dad to be there.
…
and so it was that last year, with what I felt were infinite blessings, I took the plunge.
and Dad (I hope) proudly walked me down. never mind that he was not particularly keen on dressing up (but this he did for my sake). never mind that he preferred low-key, understated events (but go there and enjoy, he did).
the one thing I could not make him do, though, was dance. no, not even if anyone’s life depended on it. (i myself would have been floored if he did. 
)
…
it of course seems too surreal for me now to realize that he would not even make it to my first year anniversary, among our family’s many other milestones.
of course I wish he did. but what can one do?
at this point, very little.
except perhaps to relive happier moments as best as I can…
I can almost see him at the aisle, beaming, waiting with my Mom as I slowly make my way across…
…