One thing I miss about my mother is the fact that I always headed back to school, after Christmas, with an article of new clothing. No, it might not be the piece she picked out for me (our tastes were different). It often was the trade in purchase, the return swap. Nonetheless, every January 2nd, I went back to school with something new, the tags just torn off.
This morning, when I was taking out the brown hoodie sweater I bought myself, I realized that I do not have anyone in my life that can or will buy me clothes. My dad has my brother and me -- we still always pick out something for him to wear. (This year, I got him a cozy light blue pullover and Mark picked out a dress shirt and navy cableknit). My brother has my sister. My sister-in-law has Mark. The kids have their parents. Cullen has Anne. Anne has Suzanne. Lorene has BIll, even if she's pretty direct about what he should buy.
But I have no one. And Margaret has no one who buys her clothes. And Johanna is without a dresser as well, I suspect.
That, perhaps, is the sign of true singlehood, of true singleness. And it's something -- like other "mundane" daily care choices - that I miss. Yes, I hope to be in a close partnership sometime. Not only for the love, the laughter, the ability to hold each other in a soft, safe place. But I also want, so badly, the knowing. The person who would pick out the brown hoodie. The size 18/20 striped underwear. The perfect kitchen towel. The person who would stand by my side washing the dishes, shoveling the sidewalk, curling up the hose before it was time for winter. That's love too. That's being together in the most simple beautiful way.
