My parents and I are somewhere in the careful, slow process of rebuilding something. I don’t know yet what shape it will take. I think I’m done trying to predict it. Some things you have to build without a blueprint. One honest conversation at a time.
The video is still out there. 14 million views and a comment section full of strangers who watched a borrowed father straighten his tie and walk someone else’s daughter down the aisle, and felt, for a moment, that the world contained more tenderness than they’d remembered.
I think about that sometimes—about how many people watched that footage and recognized themselves in it. The ones who had been left. The ones who had understood for too long. The ones who had learned the hard way that chosen family isn’t a consolation prize. It’s just family.
Here is what I want to leave you with. The people who are supposed to show up for you don’t always. Sometimes they’re busy. Sometimes they’re distracted. Sometimes they’ve simply decided, over and over again, that someone else’s need is louder than yours.
And here is the thing no one tells you: you are allowed to stop making yourself smaller to fit inside their priorities. You are allowed to let someone else walk you down the aisle. You are allowed to let the world see exactly who showed up and who didn’t. You are allowed to be someone worth choosing, even before the people who were supposed to choose you first finally figure out what they lost.
Raymond didn’t walk me down that aisle to make a point. He walked me down that aisle because someone needed to. And sometimes, that is the whole story.
Before you go, I want to ask you something honestly. Have you ever been the person in your family who was always expected to just understand? Tell me in the comments. I read every single one.