“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”  Romans 12:15

January 2, 2016:  It was a big day.  Our oldest son was marrying a precious young woman at 4:00 p.m.  We would gain our first daughter-in-law.  I awoke early to meet my mom at a hair salon at 8:30a.m.  While we were in the salon chairs, my cell phone rang.  Miranda asked from the other end, “Are you still at the salon?   I hope they haven’t done your makeup yet.”  I asked dreaded question.  “Yes, he died about 20 minutes ago.”  I couldn’t react.  I had no place to go.

After the appointment, I drove to the store to pick up lunch for the bridal party. I called my brother, Glen, from the parking lot.  I asked him if he planned to join us in Vegas the following week. “You remember what he did the last time I called him, right?  No, I’m not going.” He was hurt and angry.  I couldn’t blame him. A few years before, he asked me to find a way to reach Dad because he was worried and wanted to check on him. Through a series of phone calls, I obtained the phone number of the motel where he was working as a desk clerk.  Dad wasn’t excited to hear from him.  He gave Glen his cell number, but never returned subsequent calls.  This had been my experience with Dad during the last few years that we still had some type of relationship so I wasn’t surprised, but for Glen, it was the last straw.

After I bought the food and drove home to get my clothes, I drove to the chapel to set up the lunch.  I put on my dress.  I did my makeup.  I was numb.  On autopilot.  The ceremony was still a couple of hours away.  I felt unreal, immaterial, wandering the halls of the church, trying to hold myself together, unsure of what would happen if I had the chance to let go.

Then it was time for pictures.  It was a beautiful day.  A precious event.  I couldn’t truly smile.  The pain is still so visible in my eyes in the photos and I hate it.

After the perfect ceremony, we drove to the reception.  The movements and people created enough distraction that I experienced a slight lessoning of the pain.  My smiles grew bigger.  We toasted and danced and laughed.  I mingled, visiting the tables, thanking the guests.  All the while, my conflicted mind was screaming, “MY DAD IS DEAD!”

A sweet young lady that I had done youth ministry with was at the reception.  She had previously mentioned to me that one of her sisters lived in Vegas.  I crouched down next to her chair and said, “My dad died this morning and I am flying to Vegas on Monday with some siblings to take care of his stuff.  This might be too weird, and it’s okay if you think it is, but do you think your sister would feel comfortable letting me stay with her for a few days?  I just need a place to sleep.”  She resolutely said, “I will text her tomorrow.”

When the reception ended and our son and new daughter-in-law left for their honeymoon, we went home.  I went to bed.  I don’t think I cried then, either.