I waited in the foyer for the wedding march to start.
“Friend of the groom or bride?” The usher asked as he held out his arm to walk me to my seat.
“Neither” I responded. I’m here for the father of the bride.” He looked confused but didn’t argue. I moved back to let him know I wouldn’t be taking a seat. He turned his attention to another guest.
His confusion was understandable, the bride’s father had passed away ten years ago. I guess in a way; I was here for the bride. My employee Harold was going to be a host body for her deceased father, Jeff Patterson, so he could attend his daughter’s wedding and walk her down the aisle. I thought back to my wedding and the picture of my mother holding space in the front of the church as a poor substitution for the woman that raised and loved me. Mom had passed when I was twelve. Her photo was the only way I could involve her in my wedding.