There, on my bed--laying on the denim quilt made by my grandmother--was a pure white, fur coat.
It was perfection. (And machine washable!)
I was shocked. Floored. It is too good to be true. Certainly too good to be true for ME.
It was what I would buy for myself if I knew myself well enough to buy the right thing...
...which at that time in my life, was something I had not yet discovered. Myself. My tastes.
But there it was. It was "me"!!
How could something like that touch you in a deep place?
I felt seen. Known. Valuable.
I asked Dad, "Is this for ME???" He said, "I saw it and thought of you."
WHAT????? It seemed to me that it was nice enough for Doris Day! And I even got to wear it as an every-day coat! I loved wearing it to school. I was so proud of it.
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| Doris Day !!! |
In the last 10 years when our relationship was really close, I thought of the little white fur coat a few times but never asked him if he remembered it.
It is a sacred memory but there is fear with it.
I was afraid he wouldn't remember and my little-girl-value would be challenged. (Like: "Doesn't ring a bell with me. Must have been something your Mother did." Killing the beauty of the whole thing: it was from HIM.)
I was afraid he would remember it differently and my sweet, fragile memory would shatter. (Like: "Oh, yeah. That was on clearance somewhere and being so cheap, I figured what-the-hell?")
Even at my current age, I was afraid it wasn't true.
That it was from HIM. And chosen by HIM for ME.
I still can't get over it. So deeply touched. Today.
(I just cried so hard and so deeply that my dogs went outside.)
You know, now that all things regarding Dad are memories, I have the luxury of framing even the hard times in jeweled frames--or I could wrap them in barbed wire and keep cutting myself. I don't deserve that--and he doesn't either.
I choose to frame the hard times with the softness of the memory of love tokens. The yukky stuff happened--but it has taken its place in my story where it belongs--not ruining today. Even by choosing THAT, I honor him.
Funny how after someone dies there's this grace that doesn't deny hardship but reframes it with comfort.
Today is like that.
Here's to the little white fur coat.
One of only 2 or 3 gifts given to me directly from my father during my childhood.
The little perfect coat that touches me at almost 60 years old...
and covers everything.
