SKYLAR
My father bowed, decked out in a new tux that actually fit his too thin frame. Hair styled and eyes bright, he made me forget the two weeks of media frenzy.
He’d outdone himself on our Friday date night, down to the dress I found in a big box this morning. The floor length chiffon gown was midnight blue with an elegant beaded bodice and was stunning enough for a princess at a royal ball.
It wasn’t a ball, though, just my eighteenth birthday, but Daddy couldn’t be convinced otherwise. He’d rented out a fancy Italian restaurant and a limousine for the occasion. My future prom date was going to have a lot to live up to.
I stepped past him and through the doors being held by our waiters. Candlelight lit the empty restaurant and soft music drifted effortlessly from a woman at the grand piano.
“Happy Birthday, Princess,” My father said, placing gentle hands on my shoulders.
My gaze drifted over the room. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling, reflecting light off mirrored panels in the walls. Our table was round and centered in front of a small dance floor. A man in a suit stood waiting by my chair.
My father offered me his arm, and I gladly wrapped my hand around his elbow. Forgetting about the sorrow that pulsed below my tumbling resolve, I determined I would enjoy every second of this night with him.
His movements were stiff, sweat beading from the pain I knew he was experiencing. But he kept smiling at me. Made sure every minute was the fairytale night he wanted to give me.
The waiter pulled out our chairs and we sat, facing each other. Blue and white china gleamed in the light while our champagne glasses bubbled with sparkling grape juice.
My father lifted his glass. “To Skylar, the most talented, beautiful, strong-willed and kind woman I know. I am truly honored to be your father.”
“Figures you’d throw the strong-willed part in there.”
He grinned, still holding up the glass. “I can’t lie, my dear.”
Tears burned my eyes, but I lifted my own glass and matched his grin. “To my father, the most talented, caring, strong-willed and self-sacrificing man I know.”
He bellowed out a laugh. Our glasses clinked, and we swallowed the sparkling liquid.
My father clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “I’m starved. Let’s see what they have for us. A little birdy told me you might like this meal.”
I knew he was pretending. Knew he barely kept any food down anymore. But the five-course meal began nonetheless. I made sure to savor each bite, my father taking his enjoyment from watching me.
We teased and talked, but not about the next week or the next year. We talked about the past, about my mom, about his life on tour. He told me stories that made his face light up and stories that had me bursting out with laugher so consuming, I once knocked over my champagne glass. Thankfully, it was empty.
When our meal was over, I wished time could stop. That we could walk through the glass door again and relive every moment over and over.
One of Daddy’s songs filled the room, the pianist obviously given a signal that we were finished eating.
My father stood, gallant and strong, despite needing to steady himself with the table. “May I have this dance?” he asked in a voice that would rival the training of Prince William.
“Why, of course.” I placed my hand in his and let him lead me onto small dance floor.
Pulling me close, my father swayed to the music and hummed the song along with the piano chords.
I could no longer hold them back. Tears trailed down my face, and I squeezed my father, wanting to hold on forever. To beg and plead with God to change the fate I knew was coming.
He sensed my break and ran a hand down my hair, comforting me. “I want you to know something, Skylar. I leave this life with no regrets. I married the love of my life, followed my passion for music with three men I’d die for, held the most precious baby girl in my arms and watched her grow into an amazing young woman. And I served God while experiencing more joy than should be allowed in a lifetime.”
I sucked in the sobs that kept any response at bay and squeezed him tighter.
“When God takes me home, you remember one thing, okay?”
I nodded, still unable to move through my grief.
“You turned wailing into dancing. You clothed me with joy. My heart will sing your praises and not be silent.”
The words came from Psalm 30 and were the lyrics in one of his new songs. The first release that would really showcase my father’s faith. The world knew, of course. He’d always been bold about his beliefs, but his music had been abstract. Subtle messages of hope. This last record, his masterpiece, was a tribute to everyone he loved.
“I’m not ready to let you go.” I sobbed into his jacket.
“Oh, Sweetie, you don’t have to let me go. I’m a part of you. Your eternal cheerleader. Know without a doubt that just because my body is gone, my love for you is not. Tuck it inside your heart, next to your mom’s and you’ll always have us there.”
I looked up at him through the blur of tears. “When you see Mom, will you tell her I love her?”
His eyes glazed, his smile broadening like a man waiting to see his bride on their wedding day. “Of course, I will.”
Despite my grief, despite his pain, I knew my father couldn’t wait to be with my mother again.
The song ended, and we made our way back to the table. My father’s movements were even more strained. That dance had taken its toll. His last sacrifice for me.
Another present soon appeared in front of me. A thin, square box.
I tugged at the ribbon and lifted the lid, tears already flowing again before I even saw the present. I would have gasped, but couldn’t get enough air through my constricted lungs.
My song.
I stared at the CD untouched in the box.
My father reached across the table and took my hand. “Ricky and I finished it over Thanksgiving. It’s nothing fancy, just me and my guitar, but I had a feeling you would want it that way.”
I couldn’t take the heartache and buried my face in my cloth napkin.
“Skylar.” My father’s words displayed his own sorrow. “Please, don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I love this. I do. It’s the most precious thing you’ve ever given me.”
I dug deep and found a smile that brought joy back into my father’s eyes. No more tears. This night was ours. It was about celebrating life, not anticipating death.
My father nodded toward our waiter and soon a cake appeared, full of eighteen candles. Smoke billowed from the two-layer chocolate monstrosity while my father sang “Happy Birthday” to me in perfect pitch.
I blew out every candle in one breath, making a wish I prayed would come true.
My father clapped and cheered. Then went on to tell me about how I’d smashed my entire cake into my face when I turned a year old.
In those four hours, my father gave me his greatest gifts.
His memories. His life through his eyes.
His successes and failures, and most importantly, the clear proof that his love for me held no boundary.