Mom was a seamstress for her family. Many times she would make something from scratch rather than buy clothes from a store.
These days it’s too expensive to buy material and notions and most clothes are mass produced and inexpensive, so handmade is almost a lost art. I can remember the sounds and smells of Mom’s machine. That particular smell of new fabric and machine oil and dust always reminds me of her. Although she didn’t make all of my clothes, she made Easter dresses or clothes for other special occasions.
Mom really wanted to teach me how to sew. She did pass the gift to my sister, but it wasn’t something I ever wanted to learn. I have owned a couple of sewing machines but have never put them to good use. I can hand sew a bit but am not as proficient as Mom or Carla.
In Mom’s current state, she wears only nightgowns. She loves the soft cotton with lace trim. She calls them her dresses. When we pull a clean one out after bath, she lights up and says, “There’s my dress!” She has a couple of blue ones, a purple with white flowers and a white with purple flowers. Because of her broken arm, we can only use short sleeved gowns. I wish we could find a long sleeve with enough elasticity to go over that broken arm to keep her warmer.
Mom has always preferred a dress over wearing pants. It has only been in her later years that she embraced wearing pants. (Even then, I think it was because she didn’t want to put on pantyhose.) I love the sweet pictures of Mom and Dad when they were dating. With Mom in her fancy heels, they were the same height. Mom’s dresses were always altered to fit her perfectly. She looked like a model – tall, willowy, and thin.
Some time ago, Dad put two collages of pictures of Mom in their early years in the hallway. She loves to look at them and pointing to one, she tells me how much she loved that dress. Pointing to another she says, “That was the most beautiful shade.” Many times, she sees a flower she likes and will say, “I would love a dress in that color.”
In Mom’s current state, she wears only nightgowns. She still loves to look at colors and fabrics and trims. Not too long ago, she would say, “I made this” – even though it was store bought. She still notices what other people wear. When I stay overnight with her, I have a turquoise nightgown that she loves. It’s a beautiful “dress”. I try to remember to wear it each time.
Mom’s mostly sleepy today. We haven’t talked much. On days like this, I realize how much I depend on my memories of her to keep me going. Although I didn’t know her as a young woman, I think of the girl I’ve come to know through pictures. I remember her strength through my youth. As I care for Mom, I picture the woman she is inside – often hidden by her dementia now. It’s easy to get lost in the circumstances of her “now” so I have to remember all she was “then” – strong and tall and beautiful in her dresses.
Mom is still so beautiful to me.
