Number 198

Today I Am Sad 

Today is Monday. On Saturday my beautiful child Emma will marry Henry Thompson. It will be a joyous event full of happiness and laughter, music and dance. But today I am sad. You see, Emma's mother and my wife, Rebecca, won't be there to celebrate with us, as she left us way too early six years ago. She would have loved Henry, whom she never had the chance to meet. A shared hardworking geekiness would have bonded them. And the careful caring way that he loves and supports Emma would have cinched it. So today, I am sad. 

I've spent a lot of time over the last months wondering about my emotional state come wedding day. Anyone who knows me only a little bit knows that I start crying at the drop of a hat, so there's no doubt I'll need an extra large hanky on Saturday. A few days ago, Cindy and I attended the wedding of a close friend. As the music began, and she started down the aisle, I felt the familiar emotional hiccup inside, as the tears started to flow. "Oh shit" I quickly realized, "I'm gonna be a wreck next week." I told this to Cindy afterwards, and she smiled wryly at me, as if to say, "ya think?"

In a sense Rebecca will be at the ceremony and reception. Heck, she'll be a part of the whole affair. How could she not be? And there will be feelings of sadness experienced by a great many people in attendance. Again, how could there not be? So today, as I ponder the weekend to come, I am sad.

Right now, I'm sitting at the Coffee Hag. My home away from home in Mankato. I'm listening to a playlist I put together a few years ago entitled 'Rebecca.' Appropriately enough, Frank Sinatra is singing "The Way You Look Tonight," which we chose as our wedding song 28 years ago. Lord! Was she beautiful that night! The playlist's purpose is to provide a soundtrack for those moments when I feel her absence most strongly. And you guessed it, today I am sad.

But here's a thing I know. After Rebecca died, friends and family gathered together that evening to support one another in our shared grief. As often happens in these moments, our tears turned to laughter as we started to share our favorite remembrances of Rebecca. At one point, I turned to our daughters Emma (a first year student at Iowa State), and Grace (a high school sophomore), and told them: "If either one of you thinks you can use this as an excuse to screw up at school, you're mother will haunt you the rest of your lives!" That might sound kind of harsh, but my sense of humor has always had an edge to it. Besides, Emma and Grace both immediately agreed with my assessment of their mother's ghostly abilities to torment them vis a vis poor schoolwork. I bring this story up because it illuminates an important truth that I have come to rely upon a great deal since her passing: The very last thing Rebecca would have wanted was for the girls and me to stop living our best lives. 

If life were fair, Rebecca would be at the wedding But it's not, so she won't be. And today, that makes me sad. 

But not on Saturday.