There's No Wrong Choice

Articles

Holly Winter
Living The Life Of Holly

There's No Wrong Choice
Aug 2, 2003

“I don’t know which one to pick.” She panicked.

“Take your time.” I said, softly. “There’s no wrong choice.”

She walked back and forth in front of the couch surveying the four dresses. “I don’t know which one.” She started to cry again. “I’ve never liked the way she dressed. How am I supposed to choose which dress she should be buried in?”

Tears were pouring down both of our faces. No matter how much Amy wanted to do this, it seemed a difficult choice for a twenty one year old. Oh. I know. She wanted the final decision. But. It was a lot to think about when she was still dealing with the news of her mother’s suicide.

I stood by quietly, giving her space.

She picked up a blue flowered dress. “This was her favorite dress. She wore it all the time. I’m sure that it is the dress she would want to wear. But. I’ve always hated it. It was her favorite. But. My brothers hated it too.” She cried harder as she placed the dress back on the couch.

I let my tears run freely. This had to be the very saddest thing that I had ever witnessed in my life. Her mother’s death had been a complete and total shock. Nobody had known that she was depressed as she had totally hidden it. Watching her first born child picking out her clothes for the open casket viewing was the most frustrating experience of my life because no amount of positive thinking could help make this chore easier.

Her stepfather entered the room crying. “Amy. These are the clothes I chose. But. You can go into her closet. Honey. Anything you want. You know that, right? Anything you want.”

“I know.” She sobbed. She turned back to me as she picked up a taupe suit. “Now this. This is the kind of outfit I always wanted her to wear. This is beautiful. I didn’t even know that she owned it. Maybe she interviewed for a job in it?” She held it to her chest and cried as her tears spilled down over the suit. “I don’t even know if it’s hers. How could I chose this when I don’t even know if it belongs to her?”

I knew her mother, but not well. I had dated Amy’s father some year’s back. He was a part of my x-boyfriend club. We had remained friends. And I had remained close to his three children, aged eighteen, twenty and twenty one. What a shock it had been to get the call. That she had killed herself. Luckily I was around and available for the kids. Because although I knew her mother enough to be completely upset by her death, I was strong enough to help the kids deal with all of the pieces of a world suddenly turned inside out.

The youngest son had cornered me earlier that evening as he beat his fists into his leg. “WHY DID SHE DO IT? WHY DIDN’T WE KNOW? WHY DIDN’T SHE ASK FOR HELP? THIS IS WRONG. THIS ISN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN.” He took a breath and started sobbing again. “Holly. I’m not supposed to plan my mother’s funeral. My eighteenth birthday is in two weeks. My mother won’t be there. Why? Why did she do it?”

“I don’t know. I’m so sorry honey. I don’t know.” Was all I could say over and over as he cried and cried. I held his hand and held him and listened and agreed that it was all wrong. I wished I could ease his pain. But. There was no way to help that kind of hurt. No way at all.

And now I was helping Amy pick out her mother’s clothes. How on earth do you dress a dead woman?

I softened my voice. “Choose the dress that would make you happy.”

Amy shook her head in agreement. “Let’s go and check her closet. Maybe there is something else in there.”

She started leafing through clothes. “Oh.” She sighed. “I bought this for her. It looked so cute on her. Now she can’t wear it anymore.”

“Maybe you would like her to wear something that you bought for her?” I suggested.

“No. It isn’t fancy enough.”

I nodded in agreement.

“Most of her clothes weren’t that great. I bought her great stuff.” She stood up. “I want to show you the powder blue sweater that I bought her. It looked so good on her. It was her best look.” She rifled around for the sweater and finally found the ribbed turtle neck on her mom’s dresser. “Isn’t it the best? It looked so good on her.”

“That is a great sweater.” I said. “You do have an amazing fashion sense. Maybe you should keep it?” I suggested. “She would want you to have it.”

“Yes. I think I will. But I don’t want to take it right now.”

We walked back into the living room. “The denim dress is good. But. I don’t think that I ever saw her wear it. And I don’t like it.”

“Ok.” I agreed.

“And I don’t like the blue dress.”

“Ok.” I agreed.

She started crying again as she picked up the taupe suit. “She would have looked so good in this. It would have looked incredible on her.” She started walking back and forth. She completely broke down. “I can’t choose. I can’t do it. I don’t know.” She was crying all over the suit. She turned to me. “I can’t choose what she will be buried in. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

I put my arm around her. “Honey. I have to agree with you. This suit is a great choice. The gold buttons on here are really classy, and she always wore gold. It’s formal enough. I think this is a very good choice.”

“Yes.” She cried as she smoothed it out. “I really like this suit. Do you think it is good?”

“I think it’s perfect.”

“Will she need shoes?”

“Yes.” I lied.

“I think brown, don’t you?” “Absolutely.”

She got to work picking out shoes and jewelry. She laid everything out on the couch and called her step father in for a look.

“That’s great.” He said, hugging her as his twenty four hour tears continued to fall. “She’s going to look so beautiful.”

Amy collected the dresses that didn’t make the final cut and returned them to the closet that didn’t belong to anybody anymore. Before we left, she stopped by the couch to check out her mother’s final outfit that she had laid out for the big event.

She looked one last time at her work. “It’s good.” She whispered.

I drove her back to her father’s house. She was ready to go inside to join the large group of friends who had come over with pizza and ice- cream, the perfect grieving tools. Her brothers were inside with the fifteen kids who had shown up to support them in their sadness. It was exactly where Amy needed to be.

“Honey. You go inside. I’ll be there in a minute.” I said.

“Ok.” She said, hugging me. “Thanks so much for taking me up there. I really like that dress.”

“You did good.” I smiled. “You’re so welcome. Anything. Anytime. You know that.”

I was exhausted. I called my mom. She’s a large woman who shops in plus size catalogues.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” She said quickly. “How are the kids? Did Amy pick out the clothes yet?”

I wanted to cry. I wanted to climb into a little hole and hide. I wanted my mother to explain it all to me. Why? Why would a mother do this to children she loved so much? What now? What would their days look like? How could I help the kids move forward with their lives?

“She did good.” I said weakly.

“You need to hold up.” My mother warned. “The kids need you to be strong.”

Ok. Maybe that struck me the wrong way. I didn’t feel like being strong. I felt like wailing and crying and completely losing it.

I sat up strait. “Mother, let me make one thing very clear to you.” I said heatedly. “If you ever decide to commit suicide…” I let all of my anger from the last hours wash over me. “If you ever decide to commie suicide, I am going to dress you in a bikini bathing suit and make it an open casket.”

“What….”

“And then I am going to let the undertaker cover your body with tattoos and body piercing so that your friends think that the reason you wore long skirts your whole life was to hide them.”

“What…”

“And I’ll promise you one more thing.” I insisted. “I’ll pay the Hell’s Angels to come and pay their respects to their sister who was lost.” I lowered my voice. “Your friends will have a lot to talk about.”

There was silence. What had I done? What had I said?

I dropped the phone to hang up quickly.

It occurred to me that she hadn’t sent my birthday present yet. And. Maybe she would think that this call was a wrong number.

But. Before I could disconnect, I could hear her raucous laughter.

(This column was written with Amy’s permission and approval.)

(A photograph to go with this column may be seen on my website August 2, 2003 through August 8th, and then will be archived on my Yahoo Group for members to view. To join the Yahoo Group, click the subscribe button above.)

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About the author: Holly Winter is an adventurer who has become known for sprinkling humor through her extraordinary life that continues to entertain the many thousands of fans here at Useless-Knowledge.com. Whether she is giving advice to the new mayor of Denver, swimming with sting rays at the Cayman Islands, or dealing with the side effects of her epilepsy medication, you will find her positive take on the world to be the perfect accompaniment to each and every part of your week. Look for Holly’s columns every Saturday. Be sure to sign up for an e-mail reminder when her column has been posted at her Yahoo Group where a photo will be posted that goes along with the column. Send a blank e-mail to livingthelifeofholly-subscribe@yahoogroups.com You can contact Holly at her website Livingthelifeofholly.com or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com

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