There’s something I don’t think I’ve ever really said out loud like this before.
Because that girl is me.
And the truth is… I don’t know how we heal from that.
Every time I see a father-daughter dance at a wedding, I’m genuinely happy for them.
I really am.
I remember my best friend’s wedding so clearly. Watching her dance with her dad… the song, the smiles, the way they looked at each other.
I loved it.
But somewhere in the middle of that moment, I remember thinking:
I can’t wait for mine.
What a lot of people don’t know is that mine was already planned.
Five months before my dad died, we were planning a big, massive Nigerian wedding.
The real one.
The one I had always dreamed of.
I got married in 2017, after my massive introduction in 2016, but I intentionally kept things small in the UK. Because in my mind, the “real” celebration was going to happen back home.
That was the plan.
That was the dream.
That was the moment I was holding on to.
And part of the reason I even kept my surname was because of that. I told myself:
When we do the big wedding… when everything is complete… then I’ll change it.
Because I wanted it to be right.
I wanted it to include him.
Fast Forward to 2022
We had already picked a date.
September. 2023.
The year he died.
That was when it was all supposed to happen.
That was when I was finally going to give him the father-daughter dance he had been waiting for.
And the one I didn’t even realise I needed so much.
I remember something that still sits with me.
My dad went to my cousin’s wedding in 2018, and he said something to my mum.
He said he couldn’t wait for his daughter’s wedding.
He couldn’t wait for that dance.
And that breaks me… because I never gave him that.
I don’t have a picture of us dancing.
I don’t have a picture of us standing together in that moment.
I don’t have anything from that version of our story.
And sometimes I think…
If I could go back, I would do anything differently.
Even if it wasn’t a full wedding.
Even if it was just us.
Just a dress.
A small hall.
A song.
One dance.
One picture.
That would have been enough.
More than enough.
People say things like:
“You can still do something to honour him.”
And I understand where that comes from.
But the truth?
I can’t
If I ever tried to recreate that moment, I would cry the entire day.
Not soft tears.
The kind that come from a place that hasn’t healed.
My dad wasn’t just “a dad.”
He was dad.
In every sense of the word.
If I was crying - he was there.
If I was struggling - he was there.
If I was up all night with a crazy school deadline - he was there.
If I just needed someone to listen - he was there.
He showed up.
Every single time.
And because of that, I’ve never been able to call anyone else “dad.”
That name?
That title?
It belongs to him.
Fully.
So when people ask,
“How do you move on?”
I don’t always have an answer.
If you’re reading this and you’re in the same position…
If you lost your dad before your wedding,
Or before a moment you had always dreamed about…
I don’t have a perfect answer for you.
I won’t sit here and say “time heals everything.”
Because some things leave a permanent space.
But I will say this:
You’re not alone in how you feel.
Not in the sadness.
Not in the longing.
Not in the “what could have been.”
And I don’t know if this will bring you any kind of peace…
But I’ll share something I did.
I created an AI picture of my dad and I.
Me in a wedding dress… him standing next to me.
And I cried.
A lot.
But it’s beautiful.
And now… I look at it sometimes.
Not all the time. Just when I can.
The reason it even came out the way it did is because I had actually gone dress shopping before.
I tried on a few wedding gowns.
virtually… because, you know, COVID times.
The AI generated photo
And maybe that’s something you could do too.
If you still have your wedding dress…
Or you’ve taken pictures before…
Or even if you just want to try one on…
You could create something.
Not to replace the moment.
Nothing ever will.
But maybe… just to hold onto a version of it.
I don’t know if that helps.
But I thought I’d share.
And maybe healing…
Isn’t about replacing the moment.
Maybe it’s about holding onto the love that was there in the first place.
Because that love?
That never left..
My favourite virtual try-on gown ðŸ˜
With Love,
Daddy’s Girl (Ayo)
⸻
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