Bittersweetness

So I'm engaged. I've never been happier, as this coming year is my preparation for the biggest adventure of my life, as well as my opportunity to throw the biggest party Scott and I'll ever undertake. I've been struggling with bouts of insomnia, visions of brown orchids, oakmoss, wild boar and expensive French lace running through my head like so many proverbial sugarplums.

But it's not all squee and breathlessness. As I read through the numerous bridal guides, planners and magazines, I have a recurring reminder that something very important will be missing from this occasion: my mother. She died suddenly of cancer in April, only 11 days after having been diagnosed.

Truth be told, if she were here, I'd very likely be shooting down her every idea and suggestion, insisting that this will be done my way, ignoring her raised eyebrows at such notions that praying mantises will be featured on our invitations. Much eye-rolling would ensue. But I miss her. And for the first time since she passed, I actually realize that I no longer have a mother.

I relate this story to anonymously comfort a dear friend of mine, who has been in a long process of bidding farewell to an ailing parent. I want to say this to him: It's okay to not feel like you're mourning, and it's okay to feel relieved that you won't have to deal with it anymore. There will be little moments throughout life when his absence is felt, and you may not respond in those moments by feeling a profound sense of loss. We don't have to feel guilty to be okay with the departure of our parents. You're in my thoughts and in my heart (and I selfishly hope I get to see you soon).