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Hanging by a Thread

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.

dress

 

 

 

About Ice Scream Mama

Mama to 3 boys, wife to Mr. Baseball and daughter of a sad man. I have a double scoop every day.

30 responses »

  1. Winnie Schindler

    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

    Reply
  2. 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.

    Reply
  3. 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.

    Reply
  4. 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.

    Reply
  5. Isn’t amazing how a piece of clothing can represent so many important moments in life? Both joyous and heartbreaking.

    Reply
  6. 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!

    Reply
  7. 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.

    Reply
  8. You have such an amazing talent for taking the common or ordinary and turning it into something really special and meaningful. Bravo!

    Reply
  9. 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.

    Reply
  10. Natalie DeYoung

    This is brilliant. The way the skirt becomes a character in the story…love.

    Reply
  11. I am very impressed by this beautifully told story — and that you can still wear that skirt. You go, girl!

    Reply
  12. 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.

    Reply
  13. 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.

    Reply
  14. Wherever you can find comfort and happy memories…

    Reply
  15. 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.

    Reply
  16. A beautiful story. Thanks for sharing it.

    Reply

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