On Mother's Day {My Mother's Dresses}

Talk about bittersweet.

Yesterday evening I took my daughter and walked down to my parents' house to help with a project that my dad has been requesting my assistance with for a long time: sorting through my mother's clothes to figure out which ones fit and then getting rid of the ones that no longer do. My mom has gained some weight and "thickened" (my dad's word)  around the middle, and some of her clothes just weren't working well for her anymore.

The sweet part of it was that my mom was so agreeable while we were sorting through her clothes. I had her try on lots of things, and she smiled and commented (repeatedly, of course) on how much fun it was to do girl stuff and how nice it was to have her sister (she often seems to think I'm her sister) there and so forth. We talked about how nice it is to have clothes that feel good, and how bothersome it is to wear things that are too tight. I learned the best way to help her get a dress on and her arms in the correct holes; and it made me wonder if, in the future, I'll need to dress her. (Someone will, I'm sure, although I'm not sure how far off that time is.)

My dad had the brilliant idea to use a black trash bag for the clothes we'll take to the thrift store, and I knew that once I got an article of clothing in there, Mother wouldn't see it or think about it again; so while she put clothes on and off, I slipped things in there--most of which she readily agreed to pass on to someone else, but a few that she seemed to think she should hang onto.

I didn't have time last evening to go through all of her clothes (there are dresser drawers and a spare closet still to sort through), but we made a good start, and I walked back up to my house lugging a FULL trash bag of clothes...and I left a newly-organized, everything-in-here-actually-fits-Mom closet for her--and more importantly, for Dad who lays out her clothes every day.

After I got all my children in bed, I took the clothes out of the bag to go through them again, checking all of the pockets, etc. before we donate them. That's when the bitter part hit. They're just clothes, I know. Just pieces of cloth. Pink linen weave. Navy blue squares on a white background. A pretty flowered design on a blouse. Just cloth. But they were MY MOM'S, and I remember her, when she was more capable in mind and slimmer in body, wearing them...and now she won't anymore.

It's not that I mind that she's gained weight--I don't at all! As a matter of fact, I think a lot of it has come from the coconut oil mixture that she takes to help provide food for her brain (there's a much more scientific explanation for it than that, but you'd have to ask my dad to hear the details because I never can remember!) . But it's as if the weight gain is an outward symbol of the ground she's lost on the inside. And when I think about her getting rid of these clothes because she'll never lose this weight, it reminds me that she'll never regain her mind. She'll never wear those clothes again. This is a one-way street.

So many times when I pulled a blouse or a dress from her closet for her to try on yesterday evening, she would exclaim, "Oh, I like this one!"

"Me, too," I would tell her. "It's so pretty."

Only now, it will be pretty on someone else.

For the first time, I think I know what it feels like to go through someone's clothes after he or she has died. They're just clothes! But really, they're so much more than that.

Last night, as I finished the job of getting those clothes ready for the thrift store, I thought, "Whew, that was hard. But thank You, God, that I still have my mother here. I can still hug her. I can still tell her I love her. I can still watch her delight as she interacts with my children. Her clothes may be different, but she's still here."

I am grateful.