A few weeks ago I wrote about the dress that my mom wore to my sister's wedding. The perfect dress in both our opinions. The dress that every time we pictured her, we saw her in that dress. Her husband couldn't even begin to guess where that dress or the dress from my wedding was in the days before her death, so we were sent out to buy her something to be buried in. After hours of dragging two infants through a mall in Brooklyn we finally settled on a black skirt and a crimson red top. It's not what we had in mind, but it was still her.
Well, during my last task of the day when I was in NY, I emptied a hallway closet where I found both dresses. I took the one from my sisters wedding and put it on the side for a little while. I couldn't decide what I wanted to do with it. Would I let it hang aimlessly in my closet year after year, collecting dust and bringing a tear to my eye every time I passed it? After I finished with the closet I gave the dress one more look, folded it up and placed it in the bag with the rest of the clothes.
For me there is no need to hang on to that dress because I will always remember her in it.
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