I was telling a friend about a fresh grief, one with, potentially, a long shelf-life. About gripping tighter to joy. How joy and grief were now roommates in my soul. They share the same space, and even cross over the boundaries I’ve drawn for them.
I’ll never forget Josh and Katie’s wedding two days ago…how the beautiful and broken bits of life mingled.
The gnawing absence was Katie’s adored dad, who died two years ago. A loss most conspicuous those two minutes when the bride (usually) walks down the aisle holding her father’s arm. Katie had no suitable substitute. Their solution to this dilemma was brilliant and heart-breaking.
Josh and Pastor Scott took their position at the front and the attendants walked forward. When the bride’s processional music began, Katie waited alone at the entrance. Josh picked up two red roses and approached Katie. Beside her was a table with a framed picture of her dad, his sweat-stained hat (which remarkably had her new last name on it), flowers and other reminders of his life.
Josh and Katie placed their roses before her father’s photo and took a moment to silently acknowledge his contribution to their joy and the gap of his absence. Then Josh offered his arm and escorted his wife-to-be to the ceremony.
Joy and grief sharing every step.
Katie’s face was wistful, Josh’s somber.
I loved the respect they showed in acknowledging her dad. How they faced the pain together. How their joy came in the mourning.