Prom was meant to be our special occasion.
One evening, I sat with the box of his belongings that the hospital had given home, which included his wallet, the watch with the fractured crystal, and his work shirts at the bottom, all carefully folded.
I recognized the fading green one from years ago, along with blue and gray ones. We used to make fun of him for having only shirts in his closet. According to him, a man who is aware of his requirements doesn’t require much more.
I sat for a long time holding only one shirt. Then the thought came to me abruptly and clearly, as if it had been waiting for me to be prepared: I could bring Dad to prom if he was unable to attend.
I was grateful that my aunt didn’t think I was insane.
We used to make fun of him for having only shirts in his closet.”Aunt Hilda, I hardly know how to sew,” I remarked.I am aware. I’ll instruct you.
That weekend, with her old sewing equipment between us, we laid out Dad’s shirts on the kitchen table and began to work. It took longer than anticipated.
I had to start over late one night after cutting the fabric incorrectly twice and having to unstitch a whole portion. Aunt Hilda remained by my side without offering any words of discouragement. She simply advised me when to slow down and directed my hands.
My aunt remained by my side and didn’t offer any words of discouragement.
On several evenings, I sobbed softly while I worked. On other evenings, I spoke aloud to Dad.
My aunt chose not to bring it up or didn’t hear it.
I cut each piece with a purpose. The blouse Dad wore when he stood at our front door on my first day of high school, telling me that despite my fear, I would be fine.
He ran beside my bike for longer than his knees could handle, the faded green one from that afternoon. The gray one he wore the day he gave me a hug without a question following the hardest day of his junior year.
He was cataloged in the dress. each and every thread.
I cut each piece with a purpose.
I finished it the night before prom.
After putting it on, I stood in front of my aunt’s hallway mirror and stared for a while.
The dress wasn’t a high-end one. Not even close. However, every color my father had ever worn was woven into it. It was the ideal fit, and I briefly had the impression that Dad was with me.
My aunt showed up in the doorway. She simply stood there, taken aback.”This would have delighted my brother, Nicole,” she remarked, sniffling. In the finest possible way, he would have completely lost his mind over it. It’s lovely, my love.”
Every color my father has ever worn was used to sew it.
I used both hands to smooth the front of it.
