The Valentine Dress

“HEAVENLY GATES NURSING HOME” 

Normally just hearing the words brought a sense of peace, but today the tightening in my chest did not subside. I knew what was waiting for me beyond the white wooden doors that held a wreath with the words WELCOME in the center.

Rocking chair porches lined the front of every entrance of the large brick building, where an assortment of elderly people sat with warm fuzzy blankets across their laps. They would usually wave at me as I crossed the parking lot for my weekly visit.  

As an only child it had been up to me to move mother into a nursing home after she fell for the second time. Father tried his best to attend to her daily needs, his age and health prevented him from giving her the care she needed.

Six months after putting mom in the home, I found myself moving father in too. He had lost his ability to drive earlier that year after his Optometrist confirmed what we already knew. His sight was going. In fact, he could be considered legally blind. Of course he argued, he was a proud man who never asked for help and had always been a great provider. But mother placed a hand on his shoulder and told him to hand me the keys. Father hesitated but eventually handed them over.

Father called me ten times the first day mother was gone. He burnt his fingers frying eggs, his t.v. dinner exploded in the microwave; the dryer was making a weird sound. Now I knew what mother meant all those times she teased him by saying he wouldn't make it one day without her.

The first time I took Father to visit I fought back tears and tried to breathe past the tightening in my chest as Father gently kissed the back of mother's hand. The adoration shown in her eyes as she patted his cheek.

Please come again tomorrow, my Valentine." she said, when it was time to go. She had always called him her Valentine and he had always looked at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world.

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They met at a church revival in the spring when mother was fourteen and father was sixteen. From that night on they were in church every time the doors were open, just for the opportunity to see each other.

Father turned seventeen in July and his family invited mother and her family to dinner to celebrate. Although the parents had seen each other in church they had never formally met.

When mother turned fifteen in December, father built up the courage to ask my grandfather if he could take his daughter to the Valentine's dance in February. He knew it was a couple of months out, but he wanted to go ahead and ask now, in case he needed time to think about it. By then grandpa had come to really like and respect my father and his family, so it didn't take much to get him to say yes.

I have been told the story of that night so many times I can picture it in detail. 

Mother begged my grandmother for a new dress for the dance. They didn’t have a lot of money, but grandmother agreed, and they scoured Sears magazine until they found the perfect ensemble. 

The perfect dress turned out to be a red checkered Swing dress with a form fitting bust and cinched waist, the skirt was knee length and flowy. Grandmother allowed mother to also buy a necklace of faux pearls and a dainty faux pearl bracelet to match. She was hoping for new shoes, but grandmother told her the church shoes she had would work just fine.  

Mother checked the mail every day waiting for her dress to arrive and at one point worried it wouldn't get there in time. But Sears and the postal service came through and the dress was delivered three days before the dance. 

Mother's voice raised an octave and her eyes shined brighter, every time she talked about ripping open the package and carefully removing the dress. Grandmother had her try it on straight away to make sure it wouldn’t need altering, but according to mother it fit perfectly. 

The night of the dance, father arrived driving his father's old Ford. At first my grandfather insisted he take them, but grandmother reminded him of their relationship at that age and that his little girl was growing up. She convinced him to allow this to be their daughter's first real date and as such allowed Earl (my father) to pick her up.  

Grandfather conceded, and I now had two black and white pictures to memorialize the night.  

 One is of my mother standing on their front porch. Her blond hair was pulled out of her face and held by a wide red silk headband. Although she had never been allowed to wear makeup before, grandmother showed her how to purse her lips and she dabbed on some red lipstick for the special night. We both laughed as she shared the story of her father pouting and stomping through the house. He did not want his daughter wearing makeup of any kind, that included lipstick. Grandmother insisted because, as mother put it, it put the whole outfit together and grandfather finally conceded.

Holding onto the banister of the porch with her ankles elegantly crossed, one leg in front of the other, like the girl in the Sears advertisement had stood, mother could have easily been a model herself. 

The other picture was of my parents standing beside the car. Father was a good six inches taller than mother. His black suit was a little loose fitting but the tie and red hanky that peeked out of his breast pocket made the outfit perfect. His dark wavey hair was slicked back showing off his chiseled jaw and brown eyes. Even though the pictures were black and white, my mind visualized them in color, having had the details so vividly told to me over the years.  

Mother's nose crinkled from the smile on her face and father looked so proud of himself with his arm draped over her shoulders. It may have been their first of many dates, but the feelings they had developed over the last few months were already showing. 

I have often thought about trying to have the pictures restored and color added to them, but the fear of something happening to them stopped me. Instead, they sit on my mantle in the same frames mother kept them in for the sixty years they were displayed in my parents' home. 

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The porch people, as I had come to call them, stared at me as I made my way across the parking lot. My feet felt like lead, and I turned towards my car fighting the desire to leave and pretend that today wasn't happening.

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Father begged me to sale their home and allow him to live with his bride. Mother had just turned ninety and father was ninety-two. I found an assisted living facility that allowed them to be roomed together although they had separate beds. 

Father fell right back into their normal routine, brushing mothers' hair in the mornings and holding the mirror for her as she applied her red lipstick. On the days she was too weak to apply it herself, she would pucker her lips so father could apply it for her. She would blush and giggle like a schoolgirl when father would steal a kiss before applying the lipstick.

Father talked to my grandfather and asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage right after she turned sixteen. He knew he would be drafted soon, and wanted to make sure mother knew he would return to her. By this time, they had been on many dates, and my grandparents on both sides loved their soon-to-be-laws. Grandfather didn’t hesitate to say yes. 

Mother knew something was up when father told her he was taking her to a special place and asked her to wear her Valentines dress. Her curiosity was even more aroused when her parents followed her out onto the porch and waved goodbye to the couple as they drove away.  

On Valentines Day exactly one year after their first date, father proposed during a picnic lunch by their favorite fishing hole. Fishing was one of many activities they enjoyed doing together and they handed down their love of fishing to me. 

They were married on Valentines Day, five years to the day of their first date. Father served his four years and returned home as he promised. Mother did indeed wait for him. I also have a picture of that day sitting on my mantle besides the other ones.

Mother wore the dress only for special occasions after the day she said yes to my father, but she kept it until now for the memories. I could see the love radiate in her eyes the first time she took it out of her closet and showed it to me. Even though I had heard their story before, something about seeing the dress and making the connection made it even more real. 

When I was fourteen, I almost convinced her to let me wear it to my first Valentines dance, father stepped in and said the dress was made for mother and no one else. Mother argued, economically it made more sense to let me wear a dress that had been hanging in their closet for sixteen years, then it would be to buy a new one. 

Father disagreed and handed mother money for my new dress. He said it would be weird to see his daughter in the dress that had been a part of their story for so long. Mother smiled at the memories his words brought back and father grabbed her around the waist and danced her through the kitchen.

When I placed mother in the nursing home, she gave me specific instructions on how to care for the dress. The dress was now seventy-six years old and looked like it had just been purchased.  

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A feeling of heaviness hits my soul as I walk into mother's room. I white-knuckle the hanger of the dress that hangs in the same bag it has been in my whole life. Mother's pale skin is splayed tight across her face, her breathing shallow. Father's hands shake as he gently rubs her forehead.

Their eyes turned towards the door as I enter trying not to make a sound on the freshly waxed floor. Father's shoulders slump and once again I found myself fighting the need to run. There was no running from this and now more than ever they both needed me. 

The doctor said there was nothing more they could do. The cancer had spread to her brain and lungs. The diagnosis had come three years prior, and she started her treatment immediately. Nausea and vomiting wracked her already weak body and we all cried when she told us she was stopping treatment. She wanted to live out what time she had left with energy, not constantly sick and weak.

But now we were at the end.

Her wish is to pass peacefully in the room her and father shared in the facility. I had to jump through a few hoops, but the facility was set up for these types of circumstances, and now I was here fulfilling my mother's last wishes.

Taking the dress out of the bag, I carefully place it across mother's lap. She caresses the soft material and I place my hand over hers promising to love and care for the dress as she had always done.

Smiling weakly, she squeezes my hand and then reaches for Fathers hand. Her eyes, which had always been a beautiful shade of blue, were now dull and tired. Her finger pops as she tightens her grip on my hand and then finds father's hand on the opposite side of the bed.

"Mother," a smile spreads across her face as she stares toward the ceiling.

“NO” Father's head drops on mother's chest, and he wraps his arms protectively around her. Her hands shake as she reaches up and places them on father's head. 

“I will see you soon, my Valentine.”  

Her eyes looked at me almost pleading before closing for the last time. Her body goes limp as her last breath escaped her lips.

Placing my head next to fathers on her chest, our tears mix as we say goodbye, no longer able to feel a heartbeat. 

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Mother looked beautiful in her Valentines dress at the funeral home. Father sat beside the casket in a wheelchair as I stood to greet the people that came to pay their respects. Mother and father had been very active in their church and the community, so the church was filled to capacity.

I thanked everyone as they came by to express their sympathy, sharing a hug or memory.

After the crowd subsided father asked me to help him stand to say goodbye to mother one last time. My husband stood on one side and I on the other as we lifted him into a standing position, so he could reach into the casket. 

My heart hurt as he leaned in and gently kissed mother's forehead, then smoothed her dress over her shoulders.  

“You were wrong all these years,” he told her, confusing me with his words. 

“You always said I was your Valentine, but you, you were and will always be my Valentine. Hold the music because I will be there to dance with you soon.” His whole body shook as we lowered him back to his chair. 

I looked at mother one last time before they closed the top of the casket. Even in death her elegance shown in the dress that started a lifetime of memories.