“She’s beautiful in her wedding dress. She is beautiful in the white gossamer silk, with the little sequined embroidery down the train, and the cream flowers that are dotted among the folds of the massive gown. She is beautiful with her dark hair in a chignon, against the nape of her neck and the beads of diamond that I would give her to help hold her hair in place. Her veil would only partially cover her face, but she is still beautiful.

            In her eyes, there are tears, and I would use a tissue to catch them because a bride should never cry on her wedding day. Her makeup is only an addition to her flawlessness and the surge of pride in my heart would claim her as mine. I helped to create her; I helped to bring about an angel. When she walks down the aisle, her hand, which I have held since it first unfurled, clutches onto my arm tightly. She refused to wear her contacts, so she was worried she might trip.

            Everyone’s eyes would be on her because she is my daughter, and she is the most beautiful angel to be walking down that aisle. The boy I am giving her away to is standing there, his hands clasped loosely in front of him, ready to receive her the moment I let go. And when I take my place in my seat, the memories would come slowly to me.

            Her birth, and how vividly she came into the world, crying the moment she could. The long nights we spent awake, afraid that any moment of deep slumber would allow some thief to creep into our room and snatch her away. Her first word, I swear, was “appa,” and even though we still argue about it, I’m sure my wife has long conceded that it was only right that a daddy’s girl would utter her father’s name first.

            Teaching her how to walk made me cry for an entire night. It was only just yesterday that she was learning to pick her head up, learning to pull herself up onto her bottom, and now she was ready to walk on her two legs, and conquer the world. Except, an angel doesn’t conquer, she grace, and grace she did.

            Hana was the kindest girl most of you will ever meet in your lives. She never killed a single insect, even refusing to speak to me once when she saw me steam a lobster. She could hear its scream of agony, she insisted. Whenever she saw someone in need, she would tug onto my hand and persuade me to help. It didn’t matter who it was, she was always willing to lend a hand.

            She taught me how to be a father. As a person, my role was always son, husband, and to take on the important responsibility of being a dad was daunting. But my little girl made it so easy for me. She gave me new memories, a new perspective, a different way of looking at the world, and for someone who didn’t think he could learn any more, I did.

            Even though she was perfect, nobody really is. I wanted to protect her, to forever shelter her and she wanted to fly. An angel with clipped wings might as well not be an angel at all. She wanted to soar, to see the world, but I wanted to see her in the safety of the bubble shell I created for her. When she first experimented with makeup, I was scared.

            Seeing how beautiful she was, seeing the cheeks thin and the contours of her body take on a different form only made me all too aware that soon, protection would mean something else. It would no longer be about the bully in the playground, or the scraped knee from falling off her bike. It would be about the boys who would break her heart, and the adult problems of stressing about school.

            She was beautiful in her prom dress. She was beautiful in the dark rose chiffon, with the V-neckline that she had to fight me to approve of. Her hair was curled and her mother had helped her to tease it into a half up, half down style. She wore a shawl over her shoulders and she was smiling.

            In her eyes, there was the brightness of a smile and next to her was the boy who had came to pick her up. They had just exchanged flowers, a boutonniere for him, a corset for her. I told them to be safe, to drive safely, and she gave me one last hug before stepping out the door. My wife and I went through the pictures we took and wondered how much fun she was having.

            I took my place on the couch, and waited. I waited for her to unlock the doors and walk into the house, but I waited for was a phone call. The single ring that shot through the house brought on a sense of foreboding. And I was right, with my father’s instinct.

            That night, there was a particularly bright star in the sky. That night, it also didn’t rain because God doesn’t cry when an angel returns to him, he rejoices. But I cried. I sat on the porch, holding onto the shawl, the only thing that survived the accident and cried. I lost my daughter, I lost my baby. Hana was gone.”

            There was a silence in the crowd and Himchan readjusted the microphone. He glanced at the slideshow that was playing and brought the message home. “Drunk driving took away my daughter’s life, drunk driving made the wedding I described in the beginning only an object of my fantasy. Had the man in the other car not decided to drink, not decided to drive, my daughter would still be here. The wedding would be taking place in the next ten years. But now, I can only live with my memories and my grief, and try to live out my life for my angel.”

this is for daughterslament

I decided to change it up a little bit and I hope you don't mind~

thank you for waiting patiently ♥