It’s been three months since my husband passed away, but I still have a hard time coping with the reality. Sometimes, I think he’s still there, and when I realize he’s gone, it feels like I’m losing him over and over again.
I still can’t get the courage to let go of his things. His favorite boots are still in the hallway and most of his stuff is exactly where he left it. And yes, I have since adopted many of Keith’s habits, such as checking of the door is locked before going to bed, because it feels like a way of keeping a small piece of him alive.
The time for the yearly father-daughter dance came on an icy Friday night during the spring season. For many years now, it had been one of Katie’s most anticipated events. It was equally enjoyable for Keith as well. For a couple of days before the dance, he would pretend to grumble about having to wear formal clothes but eventually get even more excited than she did. To him, these events were far more than mere social gatherings at school.
Things were different this year.
The place was unusually calm as Katie was getting ready in her bedroom. Gone was all the fun and excitement of the father-daughter dance. She didn’t refuse to attend but neither did she feel enthusiastic about it. It seemed like the whole week had passed while she tried to figure out if going to the dance would be a tribute to her dad or just a painful reminder of his absence.
Checking on her, I saw her sitting on the edge of her bed wearing an incredibly shiny blue dress Keith had bought her the year before. He’d bought it while out shopping and instantly announced it was the ideal dance dress since it had “maximum twirl potential.” It was funny enough for Katie that she never forgot about it.
Neither of us said anything for a minute or two.
She then asked me if that dance would mean anything without her father. Somehow, Katie struggled to understand if it’s okay to move on when you lose someone you love.
I told her that her dad would have wanted her to attend it and have fun.
“I want to do this for Dad,” she said.
It struck me how much like Keith she sounded and how close I felt to crying.
Some years ago, in our own kitchen, Keith had made a very simple promise, something so ordinary-sounding that no one would have given it another thought. He declared his intent to go to every father-daughter dance Katie would ever have.
He had said it with the certainty of a man who believed he had decades ahead of him. Neither of us imagined that a deployment overseas would one day turn that promise into something impossible.
But when we got to the front door, Katie stopped. She didn’t say anything, but only held onto the doorknob and gazed back into the hallway. I knew all too well how she felt. There is this crazy stubborn part of you that convinces you that if you just keep looking, then your loved one would appear around that corner.
On the way to school, one of Keith’S favorite songs came on the radio, and I saw Katie mouthing the words silently as she stared outside at the dark road.
We parked into a crowded lot full of families heading towards the front door of the school, where dads walked around proudly holding the jackets and purses of their daughters. It was just an ordinary sight, but to us, it was something that only highlighted the emptiness we felt inside. I could feel it on Katie who held my hand tighter and did not let me out of her sight all the way to the gym.
Every corner of the gym was decorated with balloons, streamers, and lights of different colors which made the place brightly lit. Music echoed in the air and fathers and daughters were already dancing on the dance floor.
At first, Katie tried to look strong and enjoy herself.
She waved to some of her classmates and gave a forced smile, but after a while, I was sure that she was completely tuned out. We ended up sitting on a stack of mats near the back of the room, where we watched everyone else having fun.
When the slow songs started playing, she leaned into me and told me she wanted to go home.
Just as I was trying to find something nice to say, a few of the neighborhood moms passed us by. One of the lead organizers of the PTA, Cassidy, slowed down when she saw us and gave us an exaggerated look of pity. In the patronizing way in which mothers always speak to people whose childhoods aren’t as perfect as theirs, she told us how hard it must have been for us to come to events such as these “as an incomplete family.”
For a second, I thought my ears were playing tricks on me. How could someone be so mean?
I stared straight at her and told her that my daughter didn’t come from an “incomplete family” because she was raised by a father who loved her with everything he had and the reason he wasn’t there was because he died serving the country. At that moment, the gym doors opened and in walked twelve Marines in full dress blues had just walked into the gym.
Everyone was looking at them in confusion, wondering why Marines would interrupt a school dance. I was also puzzled.
But then they walked straight to Katie, and one of them kneeled in front of her and took out an envelope. I immediately recognized Keith’s handwriting.
After a brief hesitation, Katie took the letter in her hands. In it, Keith wrote how proud he was to be her dad. If ever came a time when he wouldn’t be there physically, she had to remember that she’d never be alone because his fellow Marines would be there for her. The most important thing, however, was that she should go out and dance the night away.
General Warner began telling Katie some stories about her dad. And then the other Marines joined in. They spoke about the pictures of Kate he kept, stories he told, and how he basically never stopped talking about his little girl. For some reason, they knew absolutely everything about her, her excellent grades, her favorite boots, and her dance routines in our living room.
To watch Katie discovering that all these people knew exactly who she was brought a spark of life into her eyes.
Then General Warner explained the real reason they showed up. Years ago, Keith had made them all swear a promise: if he ever couldn’t make it to one of Katie’s father-daughter dances, they would step up and take his place. And that’s exactly what they did.
A Marine took Katie out on the dance floor, and in no time at all, I saw her laughing like she hadn’t laughed in months. Other kids came to join in the fun, and even parents danced on the floor. At one point, someone put a Marine cover on her head, which she kept on until late into the night.
Watching her from where I stood at that moment, I finally understood something I struggled with accepting. To move on is not to leave a loved one behind; Keith’s love was very much alive and well within those stories the Marines told, within that promise that was held, and in all the people who showed up for a little girl.
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Bored Daddy
Love and Peace
