My father walks into my room, cautiously tapping my door open with his free hand. “Is it bad luck? Is it bad luck if I see it?” He’s holding our family dog, a very old but loyal Lucky dog cradled in his left arm. Come in, come in. My father doesn’t come into my room very often anymore. The only time it seems he ever did was when my sister’s and my beds were bunked and he’d put us to sleep with a tale of Never Neverland. I remember how he would always tell us only we could go to Neverland…that we had to leave my mother and him behind. That part of the story always made me deeply saddened.
My room is cast in gray as the sun slumps into darkness. I tell him he could turn the light on, but I’m almost glad he doesn’t — the shading is much softer this way. My father passes behind me and stands in front of my wedding gown that is suspended in the far corner of my room. The gathering at the waist looks pearlescent, catching what little light still remains on its satin surface. “Can I touch it?” He decides to just barely graze it with the back of his hand.
Lucky looks so small in the crook of his arm.
“Ethan’s going to love you in this,” He smiles at me…once…a very long twice…and slips behind the door into the hallway.
I’m getting married two weeks from today.
I found this in an email yesterday while I was complying my different accounts and cleaning out my inboxes. Felt fitting for a throwback Thursday. It is one of those moments that I’m so grateful I recorded…now it can live on forever as a little more than just a memory.