Dear Mom,

I've been avoiding this, Mom.

Been spending half my time 

pretending there's nothing going on

and the other half trying to figure out

what it is I'm trying to avoid.

It would be tempting to blame it all 

on four innocent pieces of fabric.

We had fun shopping for them --

well, mostly anyway.

It took us awhile to decide

what we each wanted

but I think in the end we were 

pleased with the choices we made.

And it was fun to decide
how to make them --

A square neck or a round one?

These sleeves or those?

A belt or no belt?

But somewhere between decisions 

and seams and hems

the fun began to seep away and

a new feeling took it's place.

The only word I could honestly give

the feeling was resentment.

After all, let's face it,

 no one ever plans to make dresses 

for their Dad's wedding!

As I stitched and ironed

(and used the seam ripper),

I would discover a lump forming

 in my throat

and pretty soon a tear would escape

and then another and another....

If no one was around,

the tears might turn into

a full blown sobfest

but mostly I would take myself

in hand and preach.

Why am I crying anyway?

I'm happy for my Dad.

I'm glad this is happening.

 I like Sara, for pete's sake!

And no, you are not going to write about this, 

I would tell myself. People do not

 need to know everything.

It is good to deal in facts, I believe;

to not allow oneself to wallow

in a hopeless mess of

 feelings and emotions.

On the other hand, it is also good 

to realize that one is human

 and therefore 

one will have feelings and emotions

that cannot be dismissed completely even with the truthfulest of facts.

A friend of mine said it best 

when I poured my feelings into 

her kind ears --

"Because. It's missing your mom.

Let the grief come."

Ahhh. That is it.

It's not because I'm unhappy 

about the plans,

Not because it's all so 

hard and terrible, 

And for sure not 

because I don't like Sara!

It is really the simple fact that the need for these dresses 

brings home the stark reality 

that you are not here, Mom.

And I miss you, that is all.

And so, when the lump comes into my throat and the tears spill down my cheeks, I will allow them their place; they are necessary and healing.

But come Saturday, when we don the lovely dresses and celebrate a new beginning, I will smile with happiness in my heart for the two 

special people joining hands. 

Because it is okay to miss you, Mom,

and embrace the welcoming of my dad's new wife all at the same time.

And maybe it's okay for people to know everything, after all.