I’ve been luckier than most folks and I know it. Mom was one of those people you couldn’t help but be drawn to. She had a way of making you feel relaxed and safe - like you were in on a secret. She had a silly sense of humor and delighted in all thing punny.
Mom was 11 weeks short of reaching her big dream of hitting one hundred, When she passed away in April of 2020 it wasn’t from Covid or any other disease. Maybe the world got to be too much for her and she didn’t want to battle any more. The way I see it she just kind of ran out of road.
Mom was New York and Texas snowbird. She wintered with my sisters in Austin and came home to my brothers and I and to the house she walked into as a bride in 1945. For the last few years there were more than a few accommodations made to keep her safe and comfortable and she took to most of them with grace. Yet in recent years each time she left, those of us saying goodbye worried “was this our last goodbye?” When she hugged me in my kitchen that January afternoon, I was inconsolable; I knew in my bones this would be the last time I would feel her arms around me.
My siblings and I in our endless circle. Susan Rubino, Michael J. Macaluso, Thomas Macaluso, Christine Wenz and me.
It was over a year later that the family could gather and celebrate her life and it was the kind of party she would have loved . You could sense her presence as we settled into our childhood home and regaled each other with stories, tears and laughter.
The next morning we began the impossible task of emptying the house. Mom taught us to give generously with a warm heart and her wishes were mostly easy to follow. Yet after those instructions were taken care of there were too many decisions to be made, too many memories attached to way too many possessions. We created all kinds of games and systems to share the wealth, the decent stuff and the “what the heck did she save THIS for” items. It seemed like there was always another trail of treasures that needed decisions.
Somewhere in the middle of that process we came across her wedding gown. My parents had been eager to finally start the life they had dreamt about before the war kept them apart. It was the perfect dress for a post-war bride - organza over taffeta with delicate ruffles down the back. She treasured that dress in the nearly 75 years she owned it and now we were about to add it to an enormous pile of unusable things. One of us would pull the dress out of the pile and eventually drag it back knowing there was no longer a space for it. I’m pretty certain each of my sisters and I took a turn at this dance and when it was time for me to head back to my family I grabbed the dress and ran.
Mom’s wedding dress a few hours before I ran off with it
It got stuffed in a drawer in an old unused dresser but I couldn’t get rid of it. Finally, somewhere around Christmas I came up with the idea to make an ornament from it. It took another full year before I could bring myself to begin. Ideas began to float in and out of my thoughts, how would I do it, what other materials would I need and could I do justice this this heirloom dress?
Mom made most of our holiday dresses and was a brave and talented seamstress, though she would deny it. My sisters inherited those talents but, I, decidedly did not. I began ridiculously slowly by deconstructing the dress by hand. Separating the skirt from the bodice felt brutal. The sleeves hung limply awaiting their freedom. I cried at each change, I found a meditative quality to the undoing, following hidden seams, teasing apart stiches, letting her go piece by piece. Misty eyes made it hard to see my work. Heaving sobs brought me to a standstill time and time again. Yet I kept coming back to it because that is what she taught me to do. After days of starts and stops, tears, endless sighing, it was done.
Mom’s dress after deconstructing by hand
Pulling in a deep breath and holding it deep in my chest I began to cut into the fabric, Instead of more pain I had found an energy I never expected. It was quick work to slide my blade across the layers of fabric, creating slim columns of creamy white textiles. I built gorgeous piles of gauzy organza and shimmering taffeta strips. Measuring and sorting these delicate pieces helped me to connect with the dreams of her as a young bride wondering what her new world would be like.
My vision took me back to the concept of the endless circle. Using bright gold colored rings, I knotted clusters of five organza strips between two pieces of taffeta. My siblings and I have been the five fingers of our parents sheltering hands. There were knots for each of us, separate yet united in the unending circle.
Strips and ornament in progress
I made many of these ornaments, some for my siblings, some our children., making sure I kept the first one for myself, The remainder of the strips were placed inside clear glass globes giving the illusion of captured snowfall. These, too, were shared among the growing families.
Memorial Christmas Ornament using my mother’s wedding dress
I‘ve always believed those who have shaped my life live on in my heart. I simply couldn’t understand the depth of that love until I was able to let go of the pain.
It is often said that grief is love with no place to go. What I’ve learned through this process is that my love always has a place to go even when I can’t figure it out. Grief has taught me that love is never lost. Instead it grows in me, building on the spirits of all those who guided me here.