think about who was supposed to walk me down the aisle next week. I'll have to ignore the lump in my throat. I mustn't think about how proud he'd be, and when I dance with my mother I can't think about how we would have danced to "My Girl." We never said that would be our song, but I know it would have been. I mustn't think about it though. If I do, I'll surely lose it. I'll have to ignore how much his brothers do and do not resemble him and the fact that there is a seat missing at their table. I'll not stare too long at the pictures in the slide show or the memory table that will have his happy face in a frame along side Raphael's mother's.
It's supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life after all and the memory of my father will already be making most of the traditions bitter sweet. So, I'm trying to get out all of these thoughts out now, in fact, I've already cried about it and again right now. I just don't want to feel sorry for myself on the day of. I'll continue to repeat Scarlett O'Hara's mantra, "I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow."
At least I'll have my mother there, who in many ways acted a father's role, so I'll take pride and courage in that.