This morning , I watched my mom get ready for her Sunday morning JW church service, and I noticed this very attractive beige-grey sweater dress she was wearing. It was very stylish and figure flattering, and frankly, very unlike anything else she owns. Fashion and wearing matching clothes are not my mother’s strengths. She insists fashion doesn’t matter and that she’s old so it’s not important to look good, which I am always debating with her about. I always encourage her; she refuses to listen.
“That’s a really nice dress,” I said to her as she put on her earrings. “When did you get it? It looks good on you.”
She half smiles and looks hesitant. “Ed got it for me… just a few months before he died,” my mom said to me. Her eyes looked down. “He bought this for me and these special shoes for my wide feet just before he died.”
It didn’t help that death was on my mind this morning because I was getting ready to leave for a friend’s friend’s dad’s funeral, but I immediately felt choked up. The first nice thing I see my mother wearing in a long time, and lo and behold, it’s from my brother. Ed always did have good taste in clothes. There were even times in the past when he told me that I didn’t dress well enough and I needed to step it up.
“Don’t say anything else about this dress or anything to me,” my mom says while turning away. “If I say anymore, I’m going to start crying.”
That’s what we do. We just repress our feelings. It hurts too much to have feelings and show them sometimes.