When I was 12 my mother died after fighting a long battle with breast cancer.
I picked out what she was buried in. I felt very privileged and grown up being able to do that.
The other night Mason and I were watching a movie where a grown man was talking about picking out the outfit that HE had buried his mother in. He said "It didn't feel real until that moment. Holding that dress, thinking about her buying it and not knowing what it would become."
In my head I had this image of Mason standing in our closet - surveying my clothes trying to decide what to dress me in. Then the image shifted to Mason and my step mother Patti standing in my closet .... either way - what dawned on me in that moment was that I had NOTHING in there that I would want to buried in - for people see or not see - for the rest of eternity.
I turned to Mason and told him that when I died to go out and buy a really nice suit or dress. For goodness sake my hair and make up will be done professionally!!!
He joked and said he was going to bury me in a t-shirt with no bra and his old boxer shorts (my uniform he calls them).... NO!!! I said, this is serious. I don't want to be buried in some crappy Target dress. No way.
I know it sounds silly - but just think right now... close your eyes... picture your closet and all your clothes...what would you choose?
Exactly - it's time to go shopping!
1 comment:
For a post that started out so seriously, I ended my reading of it laughing. I hope that's what you intended.
I'd need to be buried in jeans and a black t-shirt, if we're going by our "uniforms". Some knee-high socks and maybe even my arm warmers. Stick a bobby pin in my hair to hold back my bangs and I'm good.
That's just a weird image.
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