So what do you do with The Dress?

Yesterday the dry cleaners called to say that The Dress was ready for pick up. I have become quite fond of The Dress for the last seven months. It was bought almost on a whim last October while we were visiting in California with Justin, Farr, Jackson and brand new baby brother, Cooper. We had done what we do as often as possible-- gather the family for a spontaneous time together. Chris and I flew in on Thursday; Melanie and Ben followed Saturday morning.

For three days, there was much passing around Cooper along side serious playtime with his two and a half year old brother, Jackson. But on top of that, we would be there to participate in the Manhattan Beach Great Pumpkin Race. To Jackson, his Dad, Papa and Uncle Ben Ben, this rivaled the excitement of having a new baby in the house. The male contingent had been prepping for months to design an entry for the event.  The rules are simple: one pumpkin, two axels that must go though the pumpkin and four wheels. It had already been decided that it would be a kid friendly pirate ship (despite Papa’s lobbying for one called the Tea Party—a pumpkin covered in wing nuts). Most of Saturday was spent on the patio with hacksaws, knives, drills and not a few beers.

In the living room, Farracy, Melanie and I were perusing wedding websites, Cooper cradled and passed between us. Engaged since May, Melanie wanted to go just at least “look” at wedding dresses (kind of like “looking” at a puppy I think); Farr and I would be her wing ladies. Now here is what you have to understand. For Melanie, most important purchases—say a backpack or snow board—require research, touching, testing, talking and after narrowing it down to two—days of deciding. She weighs the pros and cons until those around her are ready to throw up their hands and just buy her both of whatever she is contemplating if she would just decide. While excited to go with her, Farracy and I decided to take Cooper along so that if things got too prolonged we would have an easy way out. Plus neither of us was crazy about leaving the little guy in the hands of men so consumed in their creative project requiring dangerous tools.

Figuring that this was simply a scouting trip, we headed to the nearest David’s Bridal Shop to look at dresses Melanie had already found online. We were a bit of a motely crew--Melanie in flip-flops and her hair up in two nubbins and amazed to find scattered groups of threes and fours stylish women gathered around the banks of mirrors outside the dressing rooms. Asked the time of our appointment, we blankly explained we were just “looking.”  New to this whole bridal business, I was already starting to feel out of place, but taking charge, Farracy asked if it was possible to just see a few dresses. Ten minutes later an “appointment” was arranged.

The immaculately attired young woman assigned us was handed a slip of paper with the dress numbers. Disappearing for a few moments she returned carrying all three in Melanie’s size. (Apparently this was a stroke of luck on our part.) While Melanie vanished behind the curtained dressing room, Farracy and I settled into chairs, Cooper happily slumbering in his seat on the floor by our feet, preparing ourselves for the long ordeal to begin. From behind the curtain Melanie yelled, “Ok, ready? Here I come!” Stepping out with a huge grin on her face, Farracy and I started laughing and high fiving. It was The Dress; we all knew it the minute she walked out. Melanie did ask me if maybe I wasn’t supposed to be shedding a tear, which I actually did a few moments later, but first I was too busy taking pictures from every angle. The dress was simple, and elegant, and she looked beautiful, but to be sure, we all agreed she should try on the other two, a process that took longer than the decision to rule them out. In a matter of minutes, my pro and con weighing daughter had just made a choice most women spend weeks or even month deciding.

The dress would have to be ordered and then some minor alterations made, but the saleswoman said that could happen when we all came back to California for Christmas. Less than an hour had gone by, the baby had not even stirred and Melanie had a wedding dress. Done, done and done. When we got home, the men still cutting and drilling, were shocked to see us back so soon and even more surprised to hear mission accomplished.  (They, too, were successful with a racer that was not only great looking but also came in second in its heat.)

December 26 the four of us were back again at David’s for the fitting and alterations which cost almost as much as the dress. When finished it was air shipped Boston to wait the big day. Arriving in March, it hung in a doorway of a closet until riding to Maine atop piles of suitcases and boxes filled with programs and bubbles. (How perfect that my wandering daughter would wear a dress that had traveled so many miles to get to her.)

 On May 28, The Dress was worn with joy for eight hours; it was as perfect as we knew it would be. Then somehow it was left in Boston to be cleaned. Dropping it off, I pointed out that along the hem there was about an inch of dirt. This wasn’t just your normal floor dirt along the edge because this was Melanie’s dress. After the ceremony, she and Ben climbed up on rocks and walked out on docks by the water’s edge, kissed by the cool ocean breezes. They stood under trees receiving blessings of the oaks. She picked up nephews, and blew bubbles, and danced her heart out with her new husband. She lived in it the way she lives her life; and some of that dirt just would not come out. There is still a faded line, but that is fine with me. Somehow that line embodies a life already well lived.

So for now it hangs next to another wedding dress –this from 1972 --with it’s long sleeves and empire waist sewn by a woman who lived “out in the country”, as we called it in N.C.  A bit faded from its thirty-nine years and many moves but a relic from the 60s. Worn only two hours for the church wedding and reception following in the parish hall it is still pristine—no signs of wear and tear. Beginning life together with Chris, my still immaculate dress seems a reflection of a 23 year-olds innocence. At thirty-one, Melanie’s life of adventure, joys and heartaches has already been so different from anything I might have imagined as a newly wed. But now, at least for the time being, they hang together keeping each other company, mirrors of the innocence and wisdom of two young women beginning their married lives blessed with such hope and love. 

Just trying to catch my breath...

July 2004, that was all I wanted to do—catch my breath—and for me there is no better way than our annual Fourth of July trip to Nantucket. But that year, until a few weeks before, we were not sure it would happen. Since April, our lives had revolved around only one thing-cancer--specifically Melanie’s thyroid cancer. That spring we had already canceled a cruise with two other couples. Vacations were not part of any conversations.

Melanie’s life, and ours as we knew it, had come to a grinding halt replaced by tests and scans, blood work and three surgeries.  Countless conversations and emails with friends and family, and insurance company workers who knew my daughter only as a number and a diagnosis consumed each day.  My vocations was as cheerleader and caregiver while attempting to be optimistic and upbeat with Melanie who was reeling and mystified to find her twenty-four year old life morphing into the medical morass threatening to engulf her. Late into the night, Chris and I would huddle silently wishing we could “fix” the unfixable for our daughter who, after years of being a competent adult finding her way in the world, had become our daughter in need.

But now it was July; the surgeries were over.  Melanie had survived her last treatment-- three days in isolation being blasted with radioactive iodine-- and was already rebounding. In Melanie fashion, she was ready to move on. Deciding to combine her interest in experiential learning and love of children, she was accepted to a residential training program beginning July 5--only a week after her last treatment.  By summer’s end, she would be credentialed as a teaching assistant. So, while she packed up her belongings (again), to start a “normal” life, Chris and I attempted to do the same.

Piling two weeks of supplies and our black labs into the boat, we headed out for a bit of familiar R and R. The Fourth on Nantucket with its old fashioned Main Street celebration always brought me back to my youth-- pie eating contests, free balloons handed out by good natured souls, dogs in costumes. Plus, we would again meet-up with our good friends Mark and Ellen to share the weekend. After the Fourth we would bounce around other ports, stopping where the spirit moved us to stay for a few days.

Hugging Melanie goodbye and motoring under clear skies and flat seas, the anxiety I had carried for months trailed in the wake behind the boat. Willing myself to breathe deeply, I kept reminding myself that Melanie was safe, and on the mend. The crisis was over; all would be well. Five hours later, as Angel Fish pulled into Nantucket Boat Basin, tension dripped away with the sweat rolling off my face as ocean breezes cooled the air.

That night at dinner, Chris and I raised a toast, “To us and the fam.” --the same words we use every night, encompassing a world of hopes, prayers and thanksgivings.  As we left the restaurant the extra glass of dinner wine making me feel expansive, I remember telling Chris that I felt relaxed for the first time in three months. When my cell phone rang from our home number I smiled, effusively greeting Melanie with my usual, “Hi Peeps!”

But instead of her usual, “Hello Mother,” her voice sounded small –almost tentative; my mom radar began blipping wildly. It was 7:30 on the Friday night of the Fourth of July weekend and Dr. R had just called saying she was headed for vacation for two weeks.  She did not want Melanie to be surprised when she was contacted on Monday morning to schedule a MRI.  It seemed the follow-up CT scans after the radioactive Iodine treatment indicated Melanie’s cancer had metastasized spreading beyond her thyroid and her neck. Testing and follow-up needed to start immediately.  Suddenly completely sober, I asked a few questions-- none of which Melanie could answer and then put Chris on the phone. Grabbing the phone just as they were about to hang up I asked if she was ok (Could there ever be a dumber question?) and she of course answered yes, she was fine. Words we both knew were a lie the minute they left her mouth.

Hanging up, Chris and I tried calling her doctor, but of course, she could not be reached. What did this all mean? Neither of us had a clue except we knew it could not be good. Confused, distraught and unable gather the strength to move from the hard wooden bench outside the restaurant, we sat talking and speculating. Suddenly the Nantucket vacationland felt like a prison; I was stuck on an island in the middle of nowhere-- Boston and Melanie a million miles away and she would be leaving for school in 36 hours.  It wasn’t until we later saw our friends Mark and Ellen that they reminded us how easy it is to get home; in our shock it never occurred to either of us that planes fly between Boston and Nantucket almost every hour. 

Calling Melanie, I told her, I wanted to come home and just hang out with her the next day. “Thanks mom.” She did not try to dissuade me. While we both wanted to be with Melanie, Chris would stay with dogs on the Island while I flew home for 24 hours. The next morning, crammed into the tiny commuter plane, the day dawned crystal clear, the Islands and Cape surrounded by luminescent blue water. Suspended in air for fifty minutes, feeling small and helpless, I wondered what I could possibly say to Melanie. What were the words she needed to hear?

But of course, there were no words that needed to be said; there was only presence. She needed to not be alone. I had nothing else to give; it was enough. I would stand with her—as would her father, and her family, and her friends. She would not be alone to face whatever lay ahead. That day we watched boats flood Boston Harbor, took a walk in the woods, ate dinner out, slept, and hugged.  We talked about nothing and sat in silence. As morning came, I got back on a tiny plane and she left for school.  Life would go on, but it would be a long time before I would catch my breath again.