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the first dress and the last dress

ErinLeave a comment

first dress

This probably wasn't the first dress I ever wore — I was more than a year old here, at my brother's christening — but it's the first dress I remember, in that weird kind of remembering that is nine-tenths composed of other people telling you what you should remember.

My grandmother made that dress, and I couldn't tell you if she knitted it or crocheted it. (My money's on crochet, though.) It has green velvet ribbons, which you can't see in the picture, and it's upstairs right now, in a box. I have a niece coming in August; maybe a year and a bit from now she'll wear it.

Dad

This is the last dress I made. Once Dad told me he liked a red bandanna skirt I had made, so I felt as if he would have approved of the black bandanna fabric. I was glad I had the fabric already; I hated the thought of going out and buying fabric for this last dress. Nothing would have been right; how could it have been? Besides, it was the just right weight for Florida in March, and when I lost it during "Be Not Afraid," the drops just beaded up and rolled off.

I used this pattern, for the first time. I went slow, much slower than usual for a first-time-through. I'd measure something and forget the number before I even put the ruler down. I had to move the little speed slider on my sewing machine from "jackrabbit" back down to "turtle." I kept sticking myself with pins.

I even tore the fabric of the bodice, ripping out stitches at the waist seam, but for once I didn't swear and throw it onto the "fix someday" pile; I just dug out some fusible interfacing and reinforced the tear. A little zig-zag stitching and a bit of cheating up when I redid that seam, and no one could have possibly spotted it, not even Dad, who could see a smudge or a nick or a speck of dirt from a hundred yards out.

As always, I made some changes to the pattern. I changed the front and back gathers on the bodice for darts, so as not to have to wear a belt (a blousy bodice looks awful without a belt, and my Good Black Belt is AWOL, as usual). I added deep pockets to the front seams — deeper than usual, as I wanted to be able to carry a full pack of tissues, maybe even two. I didn't want to have to carry a shoulder bag and then have it keep bumping into people when I hugged them. Dad had five sisters; I'm one of fifteen cousins; and friends were coming from all over: there was going to be a lot of hugging.

I know I'll wear this again — Dad was most emphatically NOT in favor of things that you could only use once — but I hope it's a long time before I need to wear it again. I might still want to have two packs of tissues in my pockets for a while, though. Just in case.

I'm going to miss you, Dad.

Dad

Thomas Albert McKean, 1944-2008.

0 thoughts on “the first dress and the last dress”

  5. absolutely heart-rending piece of writing. what a touching memory to your father. agreed, thanks for sharing that personal moment with us all.on another note, the baby dress looks crocheted (i’m a crocheter). it’s clear a lot of skill and of course, love, went into making it. how lovely that you still have the dress and can pass it down to other members of your family. that too, is incredibly beautiful.

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  8. Erin, I’m sorry (and as a lexicographer, I know how inadequate that word is. I don’t think we have a word yet for what I want to convey). The dress is a great tribute to him. I’m sure he’s looking forward to the day when you wear it rollerskating with your niece and regale her with tales about how great her grandpa was.Hugs to you and your family.

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  9. Erin, I’m so sorry too. My dad passed away suddenly in 1994, although it seems like yesterday at times, it’s all so vivid. Hugs to you.

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  10. Erin, this is an amazing piece of writing…you told so much without saying it outright.Please accept my deepest sympathy. (yeah, that’s inadequate, too. Would it help if I said I’m going to run for a Kleenex as soon as I hit ‘publish your comment’?)

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  12. Erin, I’m so sorry. So very sorry. Thank you for sharing this beautiful piece of writing with us. What an amazing gift and tribute.–Lydia

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  13. Oh. What a beautiful tribute to your father. I’m sorry for your loss. I am sure he would have loved your dress, and the love you put into making it for him.

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  14. Oh Erin, I’m so, so sorry. I have been wondering where you’ve been these last few days. I lost my dad 19 years ago, my mum 20 years ago, when I was 21/22. I still remember how it feels, it’s so raw. I’ll be thinking of you.Chris

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  16. Erin,Like others here, I do not have the words that truly match the situation. My sympathy and empathy are offered instead.You will always have your dad. We were given memories so that we can have roses in December.The dress is a beautiful tribute to your father. Take Care.-Janet

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  17. Please accept my sympathies for your loss, your tribute to your dad is so touching, and thank you for introducing us to him.

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  20. Erin, my thoughts are with you today. This was a beautiful tribute to your dad–he sounds like an amazing guy. Hang in there, ok? Know that you have an audience here on the blog whenever you need to vent/rant/cry.

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  22. That impish grin in the first photo led me to think “What a great dad to get up to no good with!” I am now reaching for the Kleenex. Erin, I hope you know that our sympathy pours out from all these strangers whose lives you have touched through your blog. I will sew in Mr. McKean’s honor today.

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  24. what a sweet tribute. now I need the tissues. imagine yourself wrapped in a big old hug from another daughter missing her dad.

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  26. I’m so sorry you lost your dad. It gets surprisingly more easy to bear as time goes on, but every now and then, your grief will come back and take you by surprise. I’m sending warm wishes and hugs your way.

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  28. I am so sorry. I too lost my Dad and I wish he would have seen all the crafty stuff I do today. *hugs*

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  31. I’m also very sorry for your loss… so very sorry. I think the dress and entry here is a wonderful tribute, I too had to reach for a kleenex.I hope your healing is swift.-Lexy

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  35. Erin, I’m so sorry for your loss. I lost my own dad 13 years ago and I think about him every day. You must wear the dress again. Courage.

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  36. I’m so sorry for your loss. As others have said, this post is a beautiful and moving tribute. He would have been so proud.It has brought back memories of my own father’s death three years ago and everyone who has lost a loved one will understand how you are feeling. Much love, S

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  39. My deepest sympathy in your loss.May your father’s love and happy memories comfort you and your family.All the best.

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  42. Erin, I’m so sorry about your father. Your tribute was so sweet and heartfelt, and I got a sense of you, him, and you and him together. Take care of yourself.

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  43. Erin – it’s truly wonderful when, as a daughter, one has a father who appreciates stuff that you do or make. I had a father like that and he died in 2002 and I still miss him. But remember, as I told my kids when my father died, “As long as you tell stories about him and mention his name, he’s never truly gone.” In all love and friendship…

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  47. Erin, I’m so sorry for your loss. He had a wonderful smile and must have been very proud of your accomplishments. I still have my Dad’s wool gabardine railroad conductor’s uniform, can’t bear to do anything to the fabric. Memories are woven into the textiles we love. Hugs, Becky

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  48. Ah, yes; one more reason for pockets (and wishing I had some kleenex in mine right now)! Thanks for sharing this, Erin. Big big hugs to you and your family.

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