'Weddings make me jealous. It's not for the reason you think.'

Firstly, I want to say I love weddings.

I love the sparkling champagne and watching the grooms emotional reaction to seeing his bride walks down the aisle. I love the cheeky jabs at each other's flaws tucked into vows wrapped up in words of complete adoration for each other.

I love scouring the internet for a floor-length dress that I will most likely only ever wear once. I love belting out songs on the dance floor with my favourite people in the world, heels shoved under a table and that warm fuzzy feeling when you see someone you love, be in love.

Watch Bethany Clarke on No Filter on coping with the grief of a friend. Post continues below.

But they also make me jealous, and not because of the grandeur of some of the weddings I've been to, funded by rich parents, or the glitzy diamond on the brides left hand, or even their sweeping declarations of love at the altar. I feel unequivocal joy watching them step into this enormous, glittering moment in their lives.

For many of my friends, their wedding consumes months of their lives, choosing flowers, scouting venues, tasting several varieties of lemon-meringue cake. They become the main topic of every coffee, every dinner, every walk — and I love it all.

I'm not jealous in the way the word usually suggests; there's no bitterness, no wish for something to be mine and not theirs. I do not want anyone to feel the pain I do, I'm not spiteful, and I don't feel at all resentful.

Alisa and her dad. Image: Supplied.

My jealously shows up as a yearning, a deep sadness I tuck away every single day to keep moving forward, the kind of grief that bubbles to the surface at weddings, as an ugly uninvited guest. It shows up when the bride walks down the aisle, arm in arm with her dad.

When he presses a gentle kiss on her cheek with tears in his eyes, looking at his daughter with such deep adoration as he gives her away. It's in the slow, swaying dad-daughter dance, and in the speeches where the usually stoic family man lets his hard exterior slip, sharing just how deeply he loves his daughter and how unbelievably lucky the groom is to be marrying his perfect daughter.

These moments are unbearably precious, staying with you forever. And yet I'll never have them as my dad passed away just over two years ago.

Alisa and her dad smiling. Image: Supplied.

Funnily enough, these moments of jealousy and sadness are remarkably easy to hide at weddings. It's a day for, dare I say, crying. Waterproof mascara and the handkerchief my friend gave me as a bridesmaid gift, embroidered in cursive with 'no ugly crying' are absolute essentials.

For an overly emotional person as it is, vows are a natural tear-jerker. But, it is through the dance, the speeches, the dad welcoming his new son into his family with so much love, when the words start to slur from the copious amounts of bubbles consumed that I feel so deeply sad.

I will cry, despite my best efforts not to. No amount of lip biting or looking away will stop the lump in my throat from going away.

It will be a little too much. It is not the sweet eye watering you can wipe away with a tissue and laugh off. Perhaps my tears feel a little random too (most people aren't sobbing when the daddy-daughter happens and they're buzzed).

I'm sure acquaintances at my table thought I was odd, crying over what seemed like nothing. After all, telling people my dad died isn't exactly dinner-table conversation, while picking at beef tenderloin and mashed potatoes. So I do my best to get it over with, plaster on a smile, and, if anyone asks, blame the tears on watching two people madly in love.

Alisa, her dad and her partner smiling in hospital. Image: Supplied.

As every grief counsellor will tell you, grief comes in waves. This is true. Sometimes it's the smallest, most mundane things that will trigger it. I have been hit with grief simply from seeing a horse or listening to an Elvis song because I know how much my dad loved them.

Losing a parent in your twenties is hard. You don't just mourn them, you mourn everything they'll miss. My dad will never see me get married. He will never meet my children. The last person he ever knew was the 27-year-old version of me. There are innumerable moments in my life I will wish for him to be there.

Dads aren't the focus of weddings at all, it is about celebrating romantic love after all, not the parental kind. And yet, dads are the ones who have loved you all along, quietly and endlessly.

If your dad was at your wedding, or he will be at your wedding, you are so lucky and I am jealous of you.

I will never stop missing my dad, but I carry his love with me, especially in the moments I know he would have wanted to be there.

Feature image: Supplied.