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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”

  2. My condolences on your loss. Being a daddy’s girl myself, this entry made my eyes well up a bit. Your dad looked like someone with a sharp sense of humor and fun.

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  6. My condolences on your loss.To your father, you’re probably still the little girl in crocheted dress. And always will be.

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  9. Erin: I didn’t realize, when I started reading, what this post was. I just thought “Ooh, goody! A new Dress-a-Day post!” and jumped in. And then as I read the words, I started to get a horrible sinking feeling: please don’t let this be going where I worry that it’s going… And then I got to the end and started crying. This was a beautiful– I can only call it a eulogy in domestic language. I’m so sorry for your loss. Your dad has a delightful twinkle to his eye. I bet he was a wonderful man. I know nothing anyone can say – and certainly not some lame comment on your blog – will make you feel better. But I wanted you to know how much this touched me. Thank you for sharing your last gift to your papa with us.

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  11. May I join the chorus in saying how sorry I am for you and your family. I lost my own dad 12 years ago — he never got to see any of his children married, or meet his grandchildren — and by the end of your piece I was in tears. I have no idea what I wore that day — all I remember is that there was a snowstorm, so it must have been something warm. Both your dress and your writing are a beautiful and very moving tribute. Thank you for sharing with us.

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  14. ERIN,I am so very sorry for your loss.What an amazing thing that you wrote what you did and put it up on your blog for all of us, most of whom you haven’t met, to see. You’ve made yourself vulnerable to us. I can’t tell you how much that moves me, and how much I respect it.The best to you and your family.ANGELA (of realvintage.com)Your shock must be so fresh. I’m so sorry! Thank you, too, for risking to share your grief and the strangeness you must feel with us all.You will come through.BETH H,I’m so sorry for the loss of your dad in November. It’s such a short time ago.Time gradually brings a kind of comfort.Susan

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  15. I’m so very sad to hear of your Fathers passing, Dads are quite special to us ‘Daddy’s Girls’. Rest assured he will be waiting for you in that lovely garden over there.Trudy

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  16. thank you for sharing your feelings so eloquently with us. I’m sorry for your loss; i’ve only begun to appreciate my dad recently. you could always keep a black bandanna in those pockets too (in case you run out of tissues). Sort of crying camouflage.-robin

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  19. I’m so sorry. Your dress is so perfect. It’s practical and such a fitting monument. So few people wear black to funerals today, but it’s the perfect color for everything (except weddings, right?).

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  20. Erin,I am new to your blog and so sorry to hear about your father. I also have a dress that reminds me of someone I lost recently. It’s good to have.Take care,

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  22. Erin,What a lovely piece of writing. Just beautiful. I am so sorry for your loss–it’s one of my worst fears. Take care!

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  23. Condolences.You’ve obviously got your dad’s eye for detail, but you look like your mum. What a beautiful entry.

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  31. Erin, I’m very sorry for your loss. How wonderful that you could pay tribute to your dad both in fabric and in words.

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  35. My deepest sympathy. Your father must have been very proud of having such an intelligent and talented daughter. I’m sure he still is.

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  36. My heart aches for you and your family, Erin. I know your Dad would have loved that dress. We’ll all be sending warm and loving thoughts your way during this difficult time.-Gwen

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  37. I know that there are very few words that mean anything at at time like this, but you have my most sincere condolences.

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  39. Erin, beautiful writing, wonderful photos for illustration. Thanks for sharing some of your memories. I lost my father nearly 40 years ago, but I still tear up occasionally. Treasure the memories, as he treasured you.

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  42. Oh, Erin, I am so sorry. I lost my dad when I was 25, way too soon. I am the same age as your dad now, but I still miss Daddy, and think of him often. Little things become reminders, little bits of his spirit will sparkle here and there. Bittersweet, but warm and comforting.

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  43. Oh, Erin. I’m so sorry. I lost my mom unexpectedly when she was 59, and now I’m having a cry for her as well as tears for you and your dad. May spring come soon to warm and comfort you when you feel cold inside.

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  44. Erin,So very sorry . . . words, as many as we have in the English language, simply are inadequate. Condolences to you and your family. It’s a lovely blog post even if it’s terribly sad . . .

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  45. Dear Erin,A beautiful way to remember and it will make you smile. I’m so very sorry but I’m sure he’ll be taking notes on your sartorial elegance until you meet again – he’ll have much to say.Sara.x.

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  46. We grieve with you for the loss of such a fine man and father. (off to finish monogramming my dad’s handkerchief; I’ve been putting it off too long already)

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  47. Dear Erin.. Sincere & heartfelt condolences to you and your family.. I’m sure he’s SOOO proud of you and will be that angel looking over your sewing shoulder forevermore 🙂

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  48. I’m so sorry to hear of your loss, Erin. I can tell from the expression on his face that he must have had a fantastic sense of humour.

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  49. Bless your heart and I KNOW that your Dad was very proud of you and your creativity……….your way with words and your way of expressing your emotions with this blog are a tribute to him. He’s smiling at ya kiddo!

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  50. Dear Erin – so sorry for the loss of your dad, but what a lovely way to remember and honour him in this dress, and with the two lovely photos. I have only just been able to wear the outfit I wore for my dad’s funeral 2 years ago but now it reminds me of him in a good way. I hope this dress will be the same for you in the future (as a much earlier commenter said, rollerskating with your niece, for example!)Hugs to you and hope you and your family are doing ok.

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