I had always dreamed of a day like this. When she was born, I didn’t know if she would make it this far. She was always sick as a child–her fevers always in the hundreds, bronchitis when she was twelve, broken arm at seventeen. 

But she made it, and now at twenty-five, she stands here in white–gliding past me down the aisle to the front. Like a swan in a lake–gorgeous and proud, head held high. 

This will be the last moment she will be mine, and only mine. I will have to share her for holidays now–one Christmas with his parents, one with me. I will miss the days when it was just the two of us. Playing in the park, or watching her with her friends in the backyard. Cold days where she would come in for hot chocolate before going back out to play in the snow. 

We still had fun together as she got older, but it was different. Trips to find the perfect dress for prom, or late night talks about who liked who and which teachers needed to give students a break. 

But here she was now, about to join another family. She will never share a name with me again. She will never call me crying from the school bathroom asking to be picked up early, or run into my arms after a soccer game. 

I am losing part of myself with her, but she doesn’t know that yet. One day, when she has children she will know my pain. But I will smile and congratulate her, fawning over her dress and smile–rejoicing in her joy. But I will miss my ugly little duckling–the exquisite woman standing in front of me.