I remember standing in the mirror, all dressed in white. I leaned in closer to make sure everything looked perfect, I reapplied some lip gloss and nervously flattened the sides of my dress with my shaky hands. It was my special day, I was getting married. I had looked forward to this day for as long as I could remember, yet only one thing brought me to tears each time I thought of it... And that was letting go of my dads hand, and taking the step towards another man.
My sister had prepped me that my dad would most likely have something prepared to say right before we walked down the isle and it would ruin all my make up. So being the control freak I am, I walked out of the church nursery where all my bridesmaids were getting ready and I searched for my dad. When I found him in the hallway I confronted him and said "Okay Stephanie said you give a speech, so give it to me now so I fix my makeup before walking down the isle." He laughed and looked surprised. But he also knew my heart, and knew I only asked this because I wasn't sure I would be able to stop crying if he did it before we walked through those sanctuary doors. So he went on to tell me he was happy I was marrying Mike, and made sure I was happy too. He kissed me on my cheek and sent me on my way back to the nursery with all my sisters and best friends, just as he did for so many years every Sunday morning at church when I was just a little dark haired daddy's girl, clinging to his leg.
I got back in front of the mirror, wiped away tears, fixed my make-up and took a deep breath. I had made it through, it was time to get married. However, I couldn't quite shake this little part of my heart that ached at the thought that I had just rushed my dad through such an important moment in life. That wasn't just a time for me, as a daughter. That was a moment for him as a dad. A big moment. In just a few minutes he would walk me down the isle and let me go. And I had rushed him.
Before I could give it much more thought, there was knock on the door. It was time. As each one of my bridesmaids walked down the isle ahead of me I kept squeezing my dads hand tighter and tighter. The pastors wife (who was helping coordinate the ceremony) closed the doors after my Maid of Honor walked down the isle, so that it would be a grand reveal when I, the bride, entered the room. As the doors shut, my dad looked over at me and told me how beautiful I looked. He then told me he was proud of the women I had become and how much he loved me. Turns out he had a little more to say after all. The tears immediately started flowing, but this time I didn't care. I hugged him tight, took his hand and we walked through those doors together. What I realized in the moment was, rushed or not rushed, the speech was not the part that was hard for my dad. It was the part in just a few minutes when he had to let go of his baby girl one last time. As we approached my soon to be husband, my dad looked at me, with tears in his eyes, he raised my vail, hugged me tight, and then he let me go.
There was a tiny part of me that still felt like a three year little girl not wanting to let go of her daddy's hand. Scared of the uncertain. Nervous about tripping and falling. But I also knew my dad wouldn't have let me go unless he knew for sure the man standing in front of me was a man who would love and cherish me forever. So I turned away and took my husbands hand. A decision I never have regretted.
As a mom I think about that moment often. I think about how we, as parents, so often have to let go. Even when it's hard. We let go and watch our children take those first steps, knowing inevitably they are going to fall. They then use those tiny little feet to walk into preschool for the very first time, where we often have to turn our own heads quickly from them before they see our tears. They use those same feet as the take off on their bike with no training wheels, and eventually over time those wheels will turn into car wheels. And each time we have to take that deep breath, say that prayer and let them go. Those feet grow fast, (and I have a pile of too small sneakers to prove it) but each step they take farther from us as parents, is a step where we learn we have to keep letting them go. We have to trust we have done a good enough job as their parent to teach them how to venture out all on their own. I can only pray that I will raise my children up with the right tools, confidence, and courage to keep taking those leaps of faith. I hope they always remember that no matter how many steps away they take from me, I will always love them and would love nothing more than to walk side by side with them as often as they will allow. But I promise to let them go when they need me to.
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