Citygirl's wedding was held in the courtyard of a local museum. I never really noticed that it is clearly visible to anyone who cares to peer over the five-foot-tall wall while walking down the street, twenty feet above its floor.
The chairs that were set up for the wedding were white plastic folding chairs, good enough for people of average to, perhaps, slightly above average size. But Hubby is a big man. Not only this, but the condition of his back pre-surgery made it hard for him to get up and down from a low, unstable seat. So before the ceremony we swapped out one chair for one of the museums cast iron white garden chairs. Not perfect, but good enough for a thirty to forty minute sit.
Weeks later, probably toward the end of September, I was walking Maybelle, and we happened to pass by the museum. Out of curiosity, I looked over the wall for the first time ever.
The chair was still there, still facing the wall. One front row seat to a wedding now long over.
A ghost chair.
My Dad's chair.
I stood at the top of that wall, crying, missing him, and thinking how very, very much he would have wanted to be there to see his first granddaughter married. And how very, very much I wanted him there. And how I know in my heart that he WAS there, in the front row next to us all, watching.
The next day I went back to get a picture.
The chair was gone.
Message received, Dad.