This ridiculous question is what pulled me from the warm world of my dreams at 3:17 am today. Spring break has just been broken.
What should I wear? somehow invaded my subconscious in the pre-dawn today. I did fall back asleep fairly soundly after it, but I can’t shake the question in daylight. I am not superstitious (although I do wear the same shirt and earrings for every Packers game until that particular garment brings loss upon our beloved green & gold in which case the shirt gets cast aside as if plagued by locusts–the earrings remain constant however). I am not superstitious, but I am a sentimental observer of moments, dates, items, anniversaries of events–the annual anniversary of when I met my husband, the marking of the passing of a loved one, the takeoff of a plane as I leave and then return to my loved ones, etc. I can tell you what I was wearing when something of note happens, and it takes a very long while to discard that article of clothing, if ever. I attribute more meaning to these “occasions” than do most people, and realistically, more than is warranted. I remember wearing a new dress to our first appointment with the neurologist. I would be going to work immediately after the appointment, and had to dress professionally anyway. I liked my new dress and felt pretty good in it, and I also thought that maybe feeling good about my appearance would somehow vaguely affect its outcome. Not in the “Hey Wendy, nice dress–no way your kid has a disease with that superbly-cut gray dress on. Nice scarf too!” More like in the, “If you feel good, you carry yourself more positively and good things will come back to you with this positive light.”
I fuzzily remember thinking then that if the news came back in a bad way, that dress would be forever be that dress. Thus have the emotional fibers been woven into what has become the diagnosis dress. I’ve worn it since, and it evokes the morning of my son’s first appointment when I see it. I know I will keep it always, long after it’s gone out of style. Tomorrow is our second appointment–on January 21, April 9 felt like a lifetime away. When asked, I kept saying to friends and family, “Oh, his next appointment isn’t for another couple months, so it’s not emergent, and the neurologists don’t seem that concerned. We’ll see. We’ll figure it out.” Tomorrow is April 9. What should I wear? Will I always recall what I wear tomorrow with some degree of sentimental affection, disdain or sadness, or what? Will it always be THAT shirt or pair of pants? What uniform, what costume does a mom wear to learn about her son’s future?
It sounds ridiculous because it is. And also, it isn’t.