I took the black skirt out of the closet and chose a white sweater to wear with it. It looked like I could have been going to a job at a restaurant, but I wasn’t. Today is Jeff’s funeral.
I didn’t want to wear black today, not today. It was a symbol that I accepted the loss. I didn’t want to believe that he was truly gone. As I put on the skirt, I thought of all the other times I had worn it to parties, to work, to events, paired with a shimmering top or a simple t-shirt. I wore this skirt in happiness and expectation. Now it was paired with grief, the kind that lingers and transforms into a deep hurt for all who knew him. I felt the blackness of sorrow for his other friends, his children and his parents.
Zipping up the skirt, I knew that I had to grab my black shoes before leaving. My everyday shoes, that I never thought much about. They are comfortable and dependable. I’ll be standing for the service, standing outside the church, inside the church, whispering “I’m sorry” a hundred times, wishing we didn’t have to be here. Shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, I watch the mourners, sleep deprived and aching to go back in time; to see him one more time.
After services, I get back home to remove the skirt and put on some jeans. I will wear this skirt again, but hopefully not to say goodbye to a friend.
3 thoughts on “The Black Skirt”
I’m very sorry that a terrible loss is the reason for one of your best pieces!
I’m sorry that grief is the cause for one of your best pieces!
This was really about getting ready for Peter’s funeral.