Nancy Kennedy
I still have a black dress in the back of my closet. I bought it years ago for a funeral I was sure was coming.
I’ve never worn it.
I don’t even know if it fits anymore — I’ve been afraid to try it on.
I don’t remember buying it, but I remember living for years with the fear of the phone ringing. Living with an ache in my heart — premature grief.
No — not premature. The grief in the waiting was real.
In those days I used to sing a song to myself about things being ripe for a miracle.
Something only God could do.
I remember one time at church the pastor talked about a widow in the Bible who only had a tiny bit of oil. When that ran out, she would be destitute.
Her sons would be taken away and sold into slavery to pay a creditor.
The prophet Elisha told her to gather as many empty vessels as she could find and start pouring oil into them.
She kept pouring.
When the jars ran out, so did the oil.
Not only did she have enough to sell to pay off her debt, but enough left over to live on.
Here’s the trouble I had with that story. It’s not that I didn’t believe that happened. It’s not that I didn’t believe in miracles or the power of God to step in and do something wondrous.
I believe that 100 percent.
But sometimes the oil runs out.
Wombs stay empty.
Marriages end despite many prayers.
Addictions continue and mothers weep.
And yet I couldn’t stop hoping.
Years ago, when my youngest daughter was deep into a drug addiction and falling deeper, I would study the miracle stories in the Bible.
I’d circle God’s promises of His faithfulness, His goodness and kindness.
All the while, she kept overdosing, ending up in the ER and then returning to her drugs.
So, I bought a black dress.
A funeral dress.
I had already prepared myself mentally.
All I needed was the dress.
It stayed in the back of my closet as I waited.
Back then I’d turn my phone ringer off at night.
I told myself, “If she dies, she’ll still be dead in the morning, and I’ll need a good night’s sleep to handle things.”
Then came the phone call I hadn’t expected.
“Mom, I need help.”
Recovery wasn’t instant, but it was the beginning.
I still kept the dress — just in case.
Then one day I realized I had stopped waiting for that other phone call.
Although the grief that had been so raw for so long is still real, now it’s more of a memory.
Now she has a garden and grows her own food.
She’s building a life.
She smiles again — she laughs.
So do I.
This morning, I stopped writing this and did something.
I tried the dress on.
It’s a nice dress, but the fabric is heavy — too heavy.
The neckline felt all wrong.
Looking in the mirror, I realized it just doesn’t fit anymore.
I think it’s time to give it away.
Contact Nancy Kennedy at 352-564-2927 (leave a message) or email at nkennedy@chronicleonline.com.
