It has been a gray day. On and off drizzle. A slight breeze keeps it chilly outside. The garage is uninsulated. The rain is louder here. Our breath is vague clouds. Earlier, Darci, our daughter-in-law, came over to help with the sorting. She is fearless, climbing the bent, rickety ladder without hesitation. My only contribution is to tell her to watch for nails. I steady the ladder. She hands down box after box of tax records that Lydia neatly labeled every year, three ancient, stuffed animals in black bags, and four boxes, three of which jingle.

Our hands have a light gray coating of dust. They smell of age, mildew, and wet cardboard. We are eliminating much of the detritus filling the attic and garage. So far, the hardest part of the task was getting boxes down from above. Darci did that for us. Lydia winnows the paperwork, looking for information needing destroyed. I’m just poking into boxes. One has old karate gear, mouse eaten and crumbly. The next has a bag on top and is revealed to be a big, pink dog that sat on the end of her bed until our wedding day. Lyd runs her hand along the ruined fur. I imagine she is seeing her room,  as  it was decades ago. She opts to toss it out. I lift it, bag and all, from the box.

Below it is her wedding dress.

On top of the dress is her veil, the bow still attached, but bent and faded. With 2 hands she lifts it out, carefully.  Holding the veil to her head, I see the girl of 52 years ago. I didn’t see it then; she had forgotten to put it down. Then she sees the dress.

She holds it to her, hands brushing across the beadwork. I watch her face. I can’t think of a thing to say. I honestly don’t remember the dress. I do remember how her face looked. From a time and place neither of us envisioned, we step back to that day, that time.

I’m not sure what she will do with the dress. I have encouraged her to give it to our daughter, or granddaughter.  Iconic, it conflates 5 decades together. The symbolism is overwhelming. We do not have words.

Carefully setting it down, she begins work on another box.

I have a renewed appreciation for the strong women in my life.

May you too know strong women.

Blessings

The Road