My Mother's Dress

There are things a daughter should not have to do in this world. One of them is construct her mother’s wedding dress. She won’t wear white—not that I blame her. She is seventy-three after all. She wants a blue dress, which is fine. I love blue. But she wants it to be blue taffeta. I told her I have a religious objection to taffeta. She asked me how that was possible. I told her that when I turned…the age I am now…and I wasn’t married, after praying to God all throughout my life for a husband—I believe I asked for and/or told God I would accept everyone from Scott Baio to Christian Slater to Ricky Martin and more recently Ben Affleck—I had relinquished the idea of a higher power—at least any that answer marriage prayers—and so now I merely worshipped fabric and sewing scissors—and neither of my idols liked the idea of blue taffeta. She laughed. My mother’s always had a wonderful sense of humor. I suppose you’d have to in order to start buying new china patterns when most people are buying coffins. She said the woman at William Sonoma laughed at her when she said she wanted to open a bridal registry for herself. You should see the list of things she wants—jams of all sorts and sizes, a rolling pin—I said, ‘Mother, you own a rolling pin’ and rather than say something sensible like ‘I need a new one’ or even ‘You can never have too many rolling pins, Hannah,’ she said ‘I have one for baking. Now I need one for beating my husband with, sweetheart.’ And part of me thinks she might have been completely serious.

My mother’s dress will have a shawl across the neckline with a hint of skin.
Really drive them wild.
It will call on the season of spring, her favorite.
I might dabble with flowers.
But I’m not sure.

I’ve made dresses for my sisters, my cousins, my youngest aunt, and two of my good friends. I have accepted that I was going to be the last one to get married, and that was fine. But I didn’t think the list of people getting married ahead of me would include Madame herself. She met her fiancé at the retirement community. The people who work there tell me this is quite common. I wondering if I should move into the retirement community. I don’t particularly mind older men. I just want someone to watch CSI with and talk to about my day. Is that so much to ask? I don’t think so.

My mother’s dress will not have a train, but it will flow.
It’s got the element of water worked into it.
With blue that’s something you can take advantage of.
It’ll seem to shimmer, while not being flashy.
I want people to applaud in their minds.

My mother has absolutely devastating shoulders. I mean, you have to see them. For a woman her age, they’re impeccable. For a woman of any age, actually. My mother is a great beauty. I remember the faces of the men when I walked her into the home. Those poor old men looked like Lana Turner had crawled out of her grave, put on some make-up, and arrived ready to dance. I heard one of the caretakers whisper to another, ‘That one’s going to go fast.’ My mother’s dress will be elegant. I want her to look like a matriarch and a model, all at the same time. As much flack as I give her, I’m actually quite proud of her. She’s the one who’s told me all along that it’s never too late, and now she’s putting matrimony where her mouth is…and I think it’s wonderful, but of course, I’m not planning on letting her know that.

My mother’s dress will make her new husband tear up.
Smile.
Maybe even laugh a little.
I want him to see the life he’s put back into her.
The joy he’s given and that she’ll give back.

My sister tells me that teenagers and the elderly fall into the same category. You have to be firm with both, and not humor them too much. This has made me yearn to be old. Since I can’t be young again, I might as well be elderly and get treated like I’m young. Some say it’s crazy to get married at my mother’s age, when life is just about over, but I say my mother could live to a hundred, which means she could have a little under thirty years left, and you can do an awful lot in thirty years.

Open a business for example.
Learn to make wedding dresses.
Start your own line.
Watch your loved ones pair up with their soulmates.
Observe some of those pairings dissolve.
Fall in love.
Have children.
Or not.

You can do quite a lot.

I want my mother to feel eternal in her dress.
I want her to feel like she’s my age all over again.
And life is set out before her
With enough of it left behind so that she can look back
And see where she’s been and who she’s loved
And take that with her down the aisle
Knowing there will be more to come

And as she comes up to the altar and kisses her maid of honor

That would be me

I’ll whisper

‘Mom, I love you…and that’s why I did what I did.’

And she’ll say, ‘Sweetheart, I love the dress.’

And I’ll say, ‘No Mother, I was referring to buying you the rolling pin.’

And she’ll laugh, and turn to her new love

And the ceremony will begin