I’m here in the hotel room, the hangover from yesterday has washed away. The turkey dinner is no longer staring at me. Instead, I’m consumed with an overwhelming sense of fear and anxiety.

In three hours I’m going to walk my sister down the aisle. In three hours my sister is getting married. In three hours I am going to give the father of the bride speech, that my father can’t give because he passed away.

The clock is ticking. I feel it in my chest as I write this observation. I’m not sure if I’m nervous for her or nervous that I have to give a speech.

I’ve repeated it a hundred times, stopping, starting over, never once making it fully through without stumbling or forgetting a line. I don’t know how politicians do it. I don’t know how lawyers give closing statements. I don’t know how speeches are given without teleprompters.

Right now I want a teleprompter. I want to know that I’m not going to screw it up. That I’m going to give a memorable speech that in some way makes up for the fact that my father isn’t alive to see her here today.

For the last 10 years I have tried to look after her, support her in her decisions because I wanted want any brother wants for his sister, and that is to be happy. And on this day, I’ve never been prouder because I’ve never seen her happier.

So Tiffany, congratulations. I love you.

- dylan

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