If any of you have checked the news on-line lately or scrolled through Facebook, you’ve probably read or watched the story of Kaley West Young’s father-daughter dance at her wedding.  Actually, it was a brothers-sister dance because Kaley’s dad died in 2015, so her five big brothers stepped in, not to take their dad’s place but to provide that moment so many brides cherish—even if it was with five pretty special people instead of one very special person.

What Kaley didn’t know was that her brothers were a conniving bunch.  As they began to dance  to Michael Bolton’s “Fathers and Daughters”, the music faded and a familiar voice filled the room . . .

“Hi, Kaley.  My name is Dave West and I’m Kaley’s dad . . . and I love her very much . . .  eighteen hundred times worth . . .”

Her father’s voice, pulled by her brothers from years of family videos, spoke directly to her.  Throughout the song, the brothers traded places so each could dance with their sister—and her father’s voice continued saying all those wonderful things a daddy says while filming his only little girl.  Before the song ever began, the bride was in tears and, by the time it ended, everyone there had joined her, deeply moved by a bond Death had not broken and by a gift the value of which could not be measured.

Today, the ways to bring someone’s memory to life are limited only by our imaginations.  Children who have been taken far too soon are included in family portraits.  Husbands who have lost their lives in service to our country cradle their unborn children.  Even Princess Diana “met” her first grandchild . . . all because technology can take our memories and make them a part of our present.

For some of us this may seem an odd pursuit.  Why revisit the pain of loss?  Why not be content with what remains rather than bringing then into now?  Because there are some moments in life for which certain people should just be there.  Children should not die before their parents.  Fathers should be there for the birth of the child they helped create—and they should be there to walk them down the aisle and dance with them on their wedding days.  But if those things—and so many more—are not possible because Death has interfered, then how wonderful it is that we can still have some part of them with us, even if it’s a very small part compared to their actual presence.  After all, as a friend of mine so often reminds me, anything is better than nothing, when nothing is what you have.

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