The last time I remember wearing the skirt was almost 12 years ago. I was not quite three months pregnant with my first child. My husband and I were at a birthday dinner for an old friend. I think it was his 35th. We sat in a u-shaped formation where everyone laughed loudly and talked over one another; dishes of Italian specialties spread across the table on steaming, over full plates.
I picked at my pasta merrily. The waistband of the skirt wrapped snugly against my middle; and for the first time I wasn’t worrying about holding in my stomach, just about holding in our secret. I looked around at all the faces animated in happy excitement; people more like family than friend. My cup was void of wine but I felt drunk on love.
I had worn the skirt before. It was one of those items that seamlessly blended into life outside my closet. I wore it to parties and to meetings at work. I wore it to wakes and showers. As time marched on, I wore it less and less. Yet, on the right occasion it would make an appearance. “Can you believe I’ve had this skirt since before I was married,” I’d say and twirl around, so everyone could see how fabulously practical and cute I was, and how it still fit.
Today, twelve years after my last vivid memory in it, I wore it to a funeral.
I sat in the pew, looking down at my hands, and picked at the threads of the skirt that I had noticed were beginning to fray. So many familiar faces surrounded me, there to pay respects to my step-father’s brother, who died too young after suffering with a long illness. We were all older, sad. We looked more worn; the wrinkles beginning to show and in some cases crease from the wear and tear of everyday living.
I listened to the kind, sorrowful words about a good man from his loved ones left behind. I looked in front of me, where two brothers sat and the third now lay. Tears slipping silently, I tried not to think of the dark reality of life and played with a string on the hem of my skirt, trying to pull it off and instead making it unravel even further.
Life just keeps going.
All of these people here are the faces who had been there through the moments; the big ones like weddings and holidays; the small ones like playing a round of golf and having a good pastrami sandwich. They are a comfort that you wear like a favorite tee shirt.
Or an old skirt.
My step-father’s brother is gone, along with so many others, like my friend whose birthday party I celebrated back then. He died just seven years later.
But the skirt is still with me.
Icescreammama 
so sad but so true, the skirt goes on as our feelings for all we have and for all we lose. so keep it close and embrace what is here. love ya
On Tue, Nov 5, 2013 at 6:28 AM, Icescreammama
I recently attended a funeral. It all hits home when death confronts us. What’s important. What’s not. What if’s.
Great post, Mama.
death kind of sucks. definitely helps for some perspective and reassessment..
Indeed.
Yes, great post. I love that skirt and how you wove (no pun intended) the skirt’s significance to the funeral and all the milestones you’ve passed in it. Well done. I am sorry for your family’s loss.
thanks. sometimes, just wearing a certain article of clothes really takes me back to a different place. clearly, i need to clean out my closets better.
I love how you focused on the skirt for revealing such poignant moments in time. This is beautiful. I’m sorry for your family’s loss.
Isn’t amazing how a piece of clothing can represent so many important moments in life? Both joyous and heartbreaking.
so true!
So sorry. But so well told.
But also . . . how can you fit into the same clothes from before kids and after all that ice cream? Damn, girl!
ha! thank you! i stopped eating food and only eat ice cream!
Nice post Alisa but I’m sorry for your loss. You have to keep the skirt. I don’t think I’ve ever had anything that long.
i have a lot of old things… that i bring out maybe once a year, maybe less… but they are good pieces and for some reason i can’t part with them.
You have such an amazing talent for taking the common or ordinary and turning it into something really special and meaningful. Bravo!
thank you so much.
I used to have that skirt, and it is exactly as you say: dependable. There is something to be said for the things that are in our lives, that we know will always be there.
dependable! that’s exactly the word i’d use to describe it and certain other items in my closet. but now, i guess, i’d say they’re memorable now as well.
This is brilliant. The way the skirt becomes a character in the story…love.
thank you so much.
I am very impressed by this beautifully told story — and that you can still wear that skirt. You go, girl!
thank you. and of course, sometimes it fits better than others. 😉
This is such a profound story, the skirt walking through life and carrying memories. And its still around! Old clothes are often comfortable because they understand us.
thank you. it’s amazing how something like an old skirt carries so much with it.
I’m sorry for your loss. I, too, love the way your skirt (darn you it still fits and probably looks perfect on you) plays a large role in your tale of how life goes on. I nodded at the words “wear and tear of everyday living”. So true! And as Sam said, having something so dependable, not matter whatit is, is such a comforting feeling.
thank you. and what sam said totally resonates. it’s true, there’s something about the dependable things that keep you comfortable.
Wherever you can find comfort and happy memories…
so true.. sometimes in unexpected places.
It’s amazing how an object can bring all those vivid memories back and how it can still be with you even when those people aren’t. Wonderful piece.
A beautiful story. Thanks for sharing it.
thank you. i appreciate the read.