No Gold Dresses in Heaven

I should get my sister's help telling this story, because I'm sure my memory of it isn't quite accurate. I'm not even sure how old I was -- I'm guessing somewhere in the 4-6 range. My sister took me shopping for Mom's birthday.

Among the sea of clothing at the JC Penny store, I spied the treasure I knew my mother had to have. It was a dress. Tiers of ruffles like I imagined gypsies would wear, the top ruffle could be worn on or off the shoulder. The material was soft, but the most awesome thing about it was the color -- it flowed and swirled like liquid gold.

Now if you knew my mom, she was a pretty smart dresser. She made most of her own clothes and she wasn't afraid to dress up. She was fashionable and had a way with color. She certainly never made her way to Wal-Mart dressed in ratty shorts and a t-shirt the way I sometimes do. Even her everyday clothes always matched and looked presentable. But Mom never, ever wore anything that could be categorized as outlandish and certainly not gaudy... except appropriately on Halloween. Not that this dress was either of those things. In my mind, it was simply beautiful.

On the day of her birthday, I know that she smiled and I got a hug and all the appropriate appreciation. I even remember that she tried it on for me, and I think... though I'm not so clear on this one... but I think that she wore it to church that day. She also wore an enormous white shawl type of thing. Seems she thought it might be cold on that particular day in July. She told me her shoulders were always chilly when they were bare and I had to accept it, though it seemed an awful shame to cover up so much of that pretty dress just to keep your shoulders warm.

One of the things on my list of the many things I would like to have asked my mother is this, "What was going through your mind when you opened that package on your birthday?"

I imagine phrases like, "Christ on a cruch!" or "Hell's Bells! Am I going to have to wear this thing?" That's about the worst you ever heard from Mom... unless she was calling you down the stairs to do your chores after dark when you knew you should have done them before hand. Then, just the way she spoke your name would send chills down the spine.

I have this memory of Mom, standing in the kitchen, doing a little twirl to model her dress for us. She was beautiful, just like a gypsy. All she needed was bells on her fingers and rings on her toes, and maybe a long golden scarf through her hair.

That dress hung in her closet for years. I remember seeking it between the folds of clothes (her closet was always very full of clothes) and running my hands across the soft buttery fabric. Perhaps as I grew older, I began to understand why it wasn't on her daily to-wear list.

Today is my mom's birthday. She would have been 70 years old.

Happy Birthday, Mom! And may there be no gold dresses in heaven.