Last week, I let go of my wedding dress.
A few years ago, I wrote a blog about the art of letting go. This was a bit different. In the throes of downsizing, I’ve been decluttering, visiting the dump regularly, selling and giving away excess pieces of furniture. Who knew you could collect so much stuff over 15 years and three children.
Finally it was time to box up the contents of my hope chest. Yes, I have a hope chest – a relic from a time gone by when young ladies stitched household linens and stored them away until they married. One of the significant benefits of having a very talented carpenter for a father is that you can point to pictures of pretty pieces of furniture and if you ooh and aah enough, they turn up as birthday or Christmas gifts!
Now my hope chest never held hopes and dreams so much as memories. So I knew by opening it up, I was in for an evening of smiles and waves of emotions, as I returned to happy memories of times gone by. There are elementary school ribbons, high school speeches, and momentos of trips taken long ago. There are university stickers and first job business cards. There are birth announcements (times three!) and all the sweet cards they have ever given me – many of the homemade, with childish scribbles of love. There’s even a photocopy of the incredible letter to Santa that my middle child wrote, and scotch taped plastic bugs to before mailing; it made me laugh. And more smiles when I came across the remarkable response a wonderful Canada Post worker sent back to him as Santa Claus, taking the time to comment on the aforementioned bugs.
And there at the bottom, I discovered my wedding dress. I wasn’t expecting that, or the conflicting emotions it brought. I didn’t know I still had it. I suppose some part of me imagined my daughter might want it one day (why do we always think that!?) and I packed it away and forgot about it. I haven’t dived that deep into the chest in more than a decade, I suppose.
I held it up full length. My Mum, just as talented as my Dad, had custom-made it for me with all the love and hope for a bright future a mother can give. Funny how a simple piece of cloth can mean so much, in so many different ways.
Because it was a glorious day. We were two young people, starting our lives together on a bright, shiny autumn afternoon. We had a grand event in the back yard of my parents’ house, complete with tent, toasts and wedding cake my mother had also made.
And there were many good years. Until the bad ones came along. All the hopes and dreams that glorious day brought were shattered like Christmas ornaments dropped to the ground. Fingering the lace overlay on my wedding dress, I remembered the tears and the anguish as I tried to pick up the pieces and glue them back together so my children weren’t hurt by their ragged edges.
I packed the dress up again in its box, knowing that with all the support of my community, faith and friend-based, I had pulled through..
Because there have been many good years since then. Nobody’s life is perfect, but mine is full of health, happiness and hope for even more good years to come. So, with apologies to its maker, I let it go. The dress has been given away to a charity. Will anyone ever wear it? I don’t know. Maybe so, in which case, I wish her all the happiness I had in those early years. And if it is picked apart for the beauty of its components, may each piece bring joy to its new owners. Now I have room in my hope chest for new memories.
I wonder if I’ll find the wedding cake when I clean out the freezer!
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