I
looked down at my white dress, my favorite dress and looked blankly at Grandma
Owens, Mom, and her oldest sister. I said nothing, but I turned back to my
little daughter, smiling at her sleepy face as I lay her down.
Aunt Dorothy stood at the
doorway with massive arms crossed against her chest. “You need to change
dresses and put on a respectable dark dress and dark shoes. Everyone is going
to see you and think you have no respect for the dead.”
My mother had raised me to
“remember my manners and always be polite to my elders,” and I had been all my
childhood. Today, I swallowed my
words, and ignored the trio of authority. They did not move. Right now I was
too stressed to listen to my aunt’s lecture about proper funeral attire. I had
heard it before, many, many times.
“I have to finish getting
ready. It is almost time to go.” I tried feebly to encourage them to leave me
alone.
But Aunt Dorothy was not
done telling me what I should or should not do, “Have you no respect for your
husband? Your family? You can’t go to a funeral dressed in white. I’m not going
to let you leave this house until you change out of that dress into something
respectful.”
Those words burned through
my layers of control, and my words and tears flooded over her, “I do not have a black dress. I will not wear a black dress to my husband’s
funeral. Ronnie never saw me in a black dress.
“I paid $12 for this, most expensive dress I ever bought when. But we could not afford that much. We were college
students. He asked me to return it for the money. When the store said
they would only exchange, not refund it, he said he wanted to see how I looked
it in.
“When I modeled this
sleeveless, white polyester A-line sheath, all white except for the embroidered
roses on the stand-up collar, he smiled and said, “I will never forget how
beautiful you are.
“So I AM going to say my
last good-by to him in this dress.
I don’t care what people
think. If they are coming to Ronnie’s funeral to criticize my clothes, they are
disrespectful. I’m the one who lost my sweetheart, my husband. I’m not going to
wear black just because it is tradition.
I love you Aunt Dorothy,
but If you try to stop me, I’ll knock you on your big, fat butt and never look
back.”
I took up my baby
daughter, and we stepped toward our future because past traditions had to be
broken.
Funerals really do bring out the best and the worst in people. I can't imagine a loss like that, but a woman strong enough to take on the Aunts and do right by her husband's memory?
ReplyDeleteI can more than imagine that.
Thanks for linking up your story with us.
I didn't think of it as a strength at that time, but thanks to your comment I can see that it was.
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