By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
My wedding dress and veil hung off the back of my closet door for four months until I finally got my act together and donated everything to Brides Against Breast Cancer. It felt like the right thing to do. After all, I hadn’t loved the dress in a weepy way that so many brides do about their gowns; it was flattering, it got the job done, but I didn’t feel a strong sentimental attachment to it. I knew I’d never wear it again, although my husband suggested I save it to wear to the opera, and I had to remind him that we’d both slept through the only opera we’d ever attended together. Plus, the fabric couldn’t be dyed, so it was never going to look like anything but a wedding dress. I also had no illusions about saving it for someone else to wear on her big day, knowing each of my nieces will find her perfect style and silhouette when her time comes.
So I was unprepared for the wave of grief that hit me when I decided to look at it one last time before tucking it into the shipping box. I stood in front of my full-length mirror and admired the gently gathered folds of satin that accentuated my waist, the slightly dipped sweetheart neckline that flattered my bust, the long bands that my sister and best friend spent half an hour braiding in and out, adjusting just so, to create a romantic corset down my back. I tucked the comb into my hair and floated the cathedral-length veil around me. The moment was my own, just me and my ensemble, and that’s when it hit me.
There will be no daughter or granddaughter to share this with in years to come. No one will ask to take my gown out of storage, to reminisce, to ooh and ahh. No one will care to find out if it still fits me in 10 or 20 years, and no one will join me a generation from now as we double over laughing that this was considered “in style” back in my day, like I did when I revisited friends’ gowns from the ’70s and ’80s. No one will slip tiny feet into my wedding shoes, disappear under yards of tulle, and giggle as she imagines how one day she might walk down the aisle to marry the love of her life.
It’s not so much the gown that causes me grief, but the cold, hard loss of the future memories I’ll never have. It’s not the giving away of a treasured thing that hurts, but the giving up of so many other dreams.
Shannon Calder wrote insightful column for us about facing the grieving process that comes with being childfree. She’s a brilliant and compassionate woman, and I encourage you to check out what she has to say. In one column, “How Does Grief Feel to You?”, she invited us to share what our grief looks like. I had to sit with that for a while, to let it sink in, but now I can answer: My grief is a small girl draped in layers of ivory satin and tulle.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She’s mostly at peace with her decision to be childfree.
I just had to go read Shannon’s article…. wow. And it hit me how I viewed having my own children as the key to my future, my redemption, my worth and purpose. And so I lose that key and no wonder I’m lost.
I think that my grief looks like a little girl on the dance floor and no one is watching… the seats are all empty.
I know what you’re feeling. Sending a big hug.
“It’s not the giving away of a treasured thing that hurts, but the giving up of so many other dreams.” -> I can definitely relate similarly to what you are going through .. I have to move out of my apartment where my husband and I have lived for years and years thinking and hoping we’d bring a child in this world in this apartment .. but now that our landlord needs this place .. we are basically being kicked out .. and we found out we’re getting kicked out by a pregnant couple who needs to move in before their baby is born .. SO here i am giving away my 2nd empty bedroom where I had dreamt of having a child here .. now this room will be someone’s else’s baby’s room .. sigh .. how life is
Oh that is hard. I just ache inside for you.
Amanda; you may have to give up many dreams….don’t give up on you !
♥♥
Wow. That is some harsh salt in the wound, Amanda. I’m so sorry.
That’s a big OUCH. 🙁 I am so sorry. 🙁
I understand….Thank you for your strength in sharing.
I felt the never-will grief today when I watched a funny video-dare a father did with his kids, posted by a friend with a daughter. I thought SHE should totally do that dare with her daughter! And then I wanted to do it too… and remembered, I don’t have anyone I can DO something like that with. I try to share those things I’d’ve done with MY children with my friends who have children – Halloween, going to see a puppet show or a model railroad show… Or with my husband – going for walks, being silly, putting smiley faces and hearts on his samwiches… But of course it’s not the same, and only a pale imitation of what I could wish for.
My attic full of old toys and books are sad, but not half as sad as the halloween costumes I’ll never sew, or the parent-child video-dare I’ll never do, or my other hand being empty when I go for that walk. The treasures I miss most are all the moments – playing with the toys, reading the books, doing the things, I’ll never get to.
(((Hugs)))) Kathleen — you are brave! My wedding dress sits in its box in the closet. I can’t bear to give it up, but I know nobody is going to want it either. Heck, even if my daughter was here, I doubt she would want to wear it — it’s very ’80s (think Princess Diana with the big puffed sleeves), and not especially well made. I did donate most of my maternity clothes before we moved last year (18 years after I wore them!), but I did keep a few special items that I couldn’t bear to part with.
This stuff is hard. 🙁