Each day dawns with its own set of challenges, each morning a fresh battle against the unrelenting weight of grief. As I open my eyes to a new day, Sophie is the first thought that floods my mind. It's become a ritual now, walking the dogs in the quiet of the morning, whispering my thoughts to her as if she's walking beside me. But it's a conversation of one-sided longing, a desperate plea to bridge the chasm between the living and the departed.
Lately, the world seems intent on reminding me of what I've lost. Advertisements and invitations for weddings assail me from all corners, each one a painful reminder of the dreams shattered, the future stolen. It was a TikTok video that hit me the hardest—a young woman parading through an array of wedding dresses, a question lingering in the air, "Which one would you choose?"
I know Sophie is gone, but in that moment, my mind couldn't help but drift to a fantasy of her wedding day. I can envision her, radiant and resplendent, trying on those dresses, each one more beautiful than the last. How I long to be a part of that journey, to see her happiness bloom as she plans the most important day of her life. As her mother, I would have given anything to guide her through the whirlwind of wedding preparations, to witness her joy firsthand.
And then there's me—the mother of the bride. I can't help but reminisce about my own wedding day, about the proud figure my own mother cut as she stood by my side. What would I wear to Sophie's wedding? Would I opt for a grand hat, a splash of bold colours, or perhaps keep it simple and understated? The possibilities dance before me, tantalising yet painfully out of reach.
We had even thought about renewing our vows. Last spring, I picked up brochures and would have loved to do this, especially now that the children are old enough to remember the occasion. They were mere infants when we married all those years ago. Next year will mark our 20th anniversary, and it would have been the perfect time to reaffirm our commitment to each other, to celebrate the journey we've been on as a family.
But in these fleeting moments of reverie, I allow myself to dream. I imagine the type of wedding Sophie might have chosen—a traditional affair in a quaint church, an intimate gathering at a cosy hotel, or perhaps even a whimsical ceremony on a sun-kissed beach. The possibilities are endless, each one more beautiful than the last.
Yet, for all my dreaming, the reality remains unchanged. Sophie's wedding day will forever remain a wistful fantasy, a vision forever frozen in time. And so, I hold onto these fragments of imagination, treasuring them as the only solace I have in a world without her