One year, years ago, my mother and I were together shopping and she saw it first. It was a lilac-colored terry cloth nightgown just right for her size. Had I known then what I do know now I would have suggested a purchase of maybe six more of these nightgowns?

When she came home from work, she would change into this nightgown. It was simple. It had a boat neck with an elastic ruffle, cap sleeves, and a straight hem just below her knees. She and my father had a small cottage on Lake Huron. We went there on weekends and on holidays. That nightgown made the trip to the cottage and back down to our suburban home. When they retired my mother wore the nightgown day in and day out. I should say that they grew old together.

My father is the one who christened the nightgown “the garment”. He passed away too soon and my grief was deep and terrible. As an only child I inherited my mother and the garment. The elastic lost its elasticity. My mother stitched over the elastic to hold it in place, using different colored threads each time.

Every Christmas and Birthday I scoured the stores to find another nightgown to replace the garment. I bought a few that were close, but no cigars. Our four children would swarm like bees through the stores to find a nightgown like the garment. She would not even try them on.

I hate to sew. But, I went to fabric stores to find the terry cloth in a similar color to make a new garment. Once again, it was an impossible task. I began to resent the garment. My sweetheart of an aunt lived nearby. She knocked on the back door and my mother was watching the dryer without a stitch of clothing on. She was waiting for the garment to dry.

I have many more stories about my mother. I find myself wearing the same stretchy pants every day. I know that my grown children have noticed this trend of mine. My mother passed away peacefully thirteen years after my father died. My husband and I spent a fortune on a beautifully embroidered nightgown and matching robe. She was dressed in this after she had gone to Heaven. I made sure that the garment went with her, however. I tucked it into her casket. She looked angelic in the white gown and robe. I know that the fancy nightgown has floated down to earth from Heaven and that she is dancing with my dad wearing the garment. My mother is wearing the garment and dancing with my father who is in his paint-spattered shorts and a bleached-out tee shirt.