The children's father and I eloped. We were married in the Methodist church, with only one friend and the minister in attendance. My dress was lovely--I'd had it for years, even before I married him. Tea-length, they called it. All ecru-colored, watered silk and tiers of lace.
I happily donated it to Goodwill.
But last week, I arrived at the ex's house to pick up the children, and sitting in the driveway---with the pile of suitcases, backpacks, and lunch boxes---was a box. In the box was my wedding dress from my first marriage. The ex has been cleaning out the attic, and he wanted me to take it away.
I have held on to that dress for 20 years. It was gorgeous. The dress every girl dreams about when she imagines her wedding. White and sparkly and very princess-like.
But I have nowhere to store it now. And I wouldn't feel right giving it to my daughter or anyone else. I guess I'm superstitious, but I wouldn't want to wear a dress from a "failed" marriage, would you? It would seem like jinxing yourself from the start...
So I donated it to a local high school theater group yesterday. I figure using it to "play" wedding won't hurt anyone.
But why does it bother me in a way that donating the other to Goodwill did not? Why have I felt pangs of loss over that dress that I still don't feel about the other?
I suppose part of it is that my first husband was the love of my life. I loved him passionately, in a way that---I regret to say---I never felt for the father of my kids. I entered that marriage with so much hope! The sparkles on my dress were only pale reflections of the stars in my eyes.
Giving that dress up means giving up the dream, I suppose. The dream of uncomplicated love. The dream that marriage---for me, at least---is a possibility. I've tried it twice now, and I don't seem to be very good at it.
But maybe there is something hopeful in being able to let go. Maybe, by cleaning out my closets, I am opening the way for new experiences. Experiences that are rooted in reality, not starlight.
And maybe, without my shattered dreams hogging so much room, love and hope will find some space and decide to take up residence.
Doxy on her first wedding day: July 18, 1987.
20 comments:
Oh Doxy. What hope and happiness is on the face of the Doxy of long ago! How sad reality can be! I just want to weep. Hugs to you as you face the challenge of letting go.
Lovely post.
Doxy, the dress is a princess dress, with a princess wearing it. Now if you could just grasp that you are still that princess, maybe older and wiser, but still that princess.
That dream is gone, but perhaps a lovely reality lies ahead for you.
As much of a cliché as it may seem - and I tell my own divorced son the same thing - infinite possibilities lie ahead. I believe that for myself, and I'm 73 years old.
God bless you, Doxy. You write so well.
Oh honey. *hugs you lots* I sort of know the feeling -- I've got rid of a lot of stuff from my ex, but there's still some of it just sitting in closets -- I can't deal with looking at it yet. And I don't expect it'll ever be easy.
1987. You were such a young thing! And gorgeous!
I'm reading this after just coming from a class on simplicity and downsizing where a Feng Shui consultant talked about the importance of letting go of the old stuff and all our emotional attachments to it (she suggested rituals for getting rid of the stuff hardest to let go of) so that new energy and emotions have space in which to move. I know, kind of hokey. But also, I think, true.
(((Doxy))) I think the loss of the dreams is harder than the loss of the realities ... but those are hard too! Loving thoughts coming your way.
{{Doxy}}
You sure were a pretty bride :) (of course my weakness for fair, sorta-to-really redheaded women is well known... ;)
Lovely post as well. Made me heave a big sigh or two.
"And maybe, without my shattered dreams hogging so much room, love and hope will find some space and decide to take up residence."
Praying that this is indeed the case...thank you for this post. Today is my 5th wedding anniversary, and I needed to read this.
Sending you love and hugs. You are beautiful - not just were beautiful. Thanks for being such a faithful blogsphere friend and writing such great pieces. Makes me think a lot.
Peace, Lady
Lovely bride and that loveliness is still there. I think it's sweet that you gave it to the HS theater department. I did that with my dad's Marine uniforms when he died. And this is like a death for you, too. The girl with the stars and hope in her eyes still exists.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
Without a hurt the heart is hollow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
The fire of September that made us mellow.
Deep in December, our hearts should remember
And follow.
**hug**
Avie
all I can say is "wow"
Lovely, Doxy, lovely. The photo, the writing, the reflection.
And I was just thinking (as lj notes) Feng Shui as I was reading you. (Now you really KNOW I am a Californian transplanted to NC...)
Thank you for this poignant meditation. And may you have hope for love in the years ahead! And of course, may the many dimensions of love, including abiding friendship, be yours TODAY.
Real beauty - not the kind that comes with youth and which people who make face goop and magazines try to sell us - only comes with time, shattered dreams, and wisdom.
And the real stars in our eyes always shine, and do so even more brightly when we think the storms may have extinguished them.
Keep shining.
"Alcibiades"
((((Doxy))))
I hear your words and I can only imagine how hard it was to do, to get rid of that connection to those dreams.
You were, and are, beautiful, with or without the dress. And you will continue to have things to look forward to, even though they may not be what you expect.
Thanks for sharing.
You really are lovely, dear one.
{wolf whistle}
Yowza!
{grin}'
You looked fabulous!
Peace
JP
A dress is a dress Doxy. This one just has some memory attached to it. Dreams are creations of future not adumbrances of the past.
God Bless.
Eileen: "with or without the dress".
Don't get us started, Eileen dear.
Yes, Doxy, your beauty continues.
I managed to (barely) control myself about that comment. But it looks like Paul (A) gave in ;)
Bad boys!!! Thank you. ;-)
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