Her Date for the Dance

Well, it's that time of year again.  One of the many moments that we widows dread; the one that makes us want to bury our heads in the sands of widowhood until it passes.

The Father/Daughter Dance.

I'm trying to remember if I've been through this before and I don't think I have.  I have one older daughter, but if I remember correctly, the Father/Daughter Dance passed without a mention.  Now that I think about it, I'm wondering if I missed the opportunity to talk to her about something that could have been bothering her.

Then again, maybe she just didn't want to go.

But my youngest, who is all about dressing up and attending any special event that might come her way, has been up on this Father/Daughter Dance since the moment it was mentioned during her Student Council meeting months ago.  And from that meeting on, she has asked me the question that most daughters ask their mothers when their fathers are no longer present.

"Who's going to take me?"

When she asked that question, I rattled off many suggestions just to assure her that we would have men lining up to take her if I asked.  But I knew that the one person who would be at the top of our list would be her grandfather who would not look at this as a chore, but as an honor.

My youngest, who was 18-months-old when her dad died, is full of questions like these.  Things like "who is going to walk me down the aisle?" are discussions we have often, so I know that the fact that she doesn't have a dad is something that weighs on her in her own little way.

As parents, you know...this breaks your heart a little each time.

Today I went to Target to get a few things and spied a dress that I was sure she would love to wear to the dance.  I plopped it in my cart and then wound through the store until I got to the shoe department.  I looked at all of the sandals on display and picked up a pair I was sure she would like.

And then I hesitated.

The shoes were $30, which I know doesn't sound like much, but when you know they'll probably only wear them once, it's hard to part with the money.  I was this close to putting them back when I stopped.

This child has no father to take her to the Father/Daughter Dance.  Am I really not going to buy her a pair of shoes?

Seriously.

I put them in my cart and didn't blink when the cashier rang them up.  In fact, at that point, if I could have gone to Saks Fifth Avenue to buy her an entire outfit, I probably would have.

My dad has jokingly said that he is going to show up at the house with his tux on.  I have already arranged for her to get a rose when she gets to the dance, along with the fine meal that they are serving (your choice of pepperoni, cheese, or sausage pizza).

And, if I can be honest, I'm really okay with it.  I mean, I really miss Brad and wish he could be here to take her, but I know that my dad will value this memory (and she will always remember her grandfather taking her to the dance) and that makes me incredibly happy.

Especially when my daughter let me in on a little surprise for her grandfather once they get there.

"I've been practicing the Tango."

I WANNA GO HOME

I have a cold.  And I'm cranky.  I'm sitting at the library because my house is being shown and there's a guy sitting right next to me who WON'T SHUT UP as I try to write a speech.

Maybe I should sneeze on him.

I haven't been sick for an entire year and in the last couple of weeks I've endured the stomach bug from hell and this cold that my sister keeps telling me is allergies and I assure you IT'S NOT.

Sorry.  Cranky.

My realtor told me that it's because I've been under a lot of stress lately which is probably true.  That and I live in a house with three school-age children and therefore we are a petri dish of whatever the schools might be passing around that particular week.

Anyway, I know I'm stressed.  Actually, I'm feeling quite lost right now.

Last night I was journaling about everything that's going on and I realized something.  I know that leaving my house - the house that my husband and I bought together - will be difficult, but I can feel myself making peace with it.  It's like a long break-up process where I'm trying to reconcile my feelings for the ex before I move on to the new guy.

If that makes any sense.  Keep in mind this could just be the antihistamines talking.

I've always been a homemaker - even when I worked full-time.  My home is my haven and I would choose to be there over almost anyplace else in the world.  In fact, last year when my kids were at camp for two weeks, I didn't even go anywhere.  I just stayed home.

It was bliss.

As I was writing last night, I realized that part of what's so hard right now is not just that I'm breaking up with my house, but also that I'm unsure about my new relationship because I don't know where I'm going.  I'm in this weird in-between place where I don't have a firm grasp on where home is or is going to be.

And for a homebody like me...that really sucks.

I just have this feeling of floating through my life right now (antihistamines?) and not being grounded the way I like to be.  I know that home will be wherever the kids and I make it, but it takes time to fully commit and breathe that sigh of relief when you walk in the door. And I want that NOW.

And, Brad, if you're reading this...stop making lightbulbs burn out at the house right before I have a showing.  If you have something to say then just say it and stop being so damn passive-aggressive.

Geez.