The one thing I wanted at my wedding was a framed photo of my late mother at the head table, right where she should have been sitting. My future mother-in-law hated the idea from the start, and when she finally knocked it to the floor, she had no idea what my mother had hidden behind the glass.
The hardest part of planning a wedding isn’t the guest list or the flowers. It is staring at the empty space where the most important person in your life should be sitting.
My dad died when I was just a toddler, leaving my mom, Janet, to raise me completely on her own.
She was my absolute best friend and my fiercest protector. Three years ago, cancer decided to rewrite our story.
I can still vividly feel the chill of her hospital room the evening I told her about James.
“He proposed, Mom,” I whispered, holding up my left hand for her to see. “He finally did it.”
“Oh, my sweet girl,” she smiled, happy tears pooling in her tired eyes.
“It is absolutely beautiful.”
“I just wish things were different,” I cried. “I need you to be there.”
“Look at me, Keira,” Mom said softly, wiping a tear from my cheek. “I am not going to miss my only daughter’s wedding.”
“Mom, James only proposed recently, but he wants us to wait a while before getting married because he’s always away on business trips.
I’m just scared because the doctors said you only have…” I couldn’t finish.
“Listen to me carefully,” she interrupted. “I need you to promise me something right now.”
Mom reached over to her bedside table and handed me an ornate, heavy silver photo frame.
“Remember we took a picture together yesterday?” she said. “It is my absolute favorite photograph.”
“I love that picture, too,” I choked out, clutching the cold metal.
“Put the photo in this exact frame,” she added.
“And promise me that whenever you get married, you’ll place it at the head table.”
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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