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The Black Dress That Taught Me About Love
Revisiting lessons learned from a ripped hem
Recently, I attended my father’s funeral and wore a black dress.
I felt uncomfortably hot in my black funeral dress and remembered the black dress from years ago that taught me about love. It was a lesson and application that was difficult to practice with my father but one that I learned by trial and error and with a focus on myself (not expecting anything in return).
Over the past two weeks, I gave myself healing space to process my father’s passing and be a support to my siblings. Through it all and despite a traumatic childhood, when we gathered for our father’s final farewell, I had peace, acceptance, and love in my heart.
The perfect dress
I once had a favored black jersey dress that was perfect for work. It was my go-to dress. It never needed ironing; wearing it was like being clothed in a newborn’s skin. It was a de-stressor, like wearing therapy.
Wearing this dress made the world a less harsh place
Eventually, I noticed that a portion of the hem was ripping. I ignored the tearing and wore it a few times, each time telling myself, “Remember to fix that hem.” I washed it and wore it again, forgetting that hem.
