Image provided by Stux via Pixabay

So reader, I did it.

In the interests of de-cluttering, finding my inner Zen, following the lead of Marie Kondo and in the hope of having to downsize soon, I took another bootful of bags to the charity shop yesterday. Except this time it included my wedding dress.

Gulp.

I’ve attempted this many times before. Each time I get as far as unzipping the cover and stroking the dupion cream silk, then zipping it back up and shoving it back into the wardrobe.

I got married nearly twenty-three years ago. It was a very happy day, which later gained an extra poignancy. Friends and family gathered in the usual way and the photographer said it had been one of the most relaxed, happy weddings he’d done. We didn’t organise anything extraordinary, novel or expensive, just invited those we loved to share our special day.

We’ve moved house several times since then and, each time, the navy blue bag containing my wedding dress and veil came along with us. As we were a bit like the proverbial rolling stone, we didn’t seem to collect stuff. We rented for a while and got used to packing up and moving on regularly every six months or so. We lived in a variety of houses all very different and lovely in their way. All seemed to have room in the wardrobe for a dress I’d only worn once and was never going to wear again. Even if I lost enough weight so that it fitted once more!

The house we’ve lived in the longest is this one. We love it. We love our warm community, the countryside all around us and its space. It’s a big house. And that’s part of the problem. For when you have room to expand, you do just that. We’ve lived here for sixteen years and have sixteen years worth of stuff. We’ve gradually filled the house. I have two wardrobes which are packed with clothes, and they’re mostly mine.

Image provide by James DeMers via Pixabay

How on earth have I managed to accumulate so much? Why have I hung onto things I no longer wear? I’ve been gradually sorting and sifting with the hope someone else will benefit, so off go the black bin bags filled with jeans which are too small, jumpers which no longer suit me and shirts which I no longer have need of. But, each time I had a bout of clearing out, the wedding dress remained.

Until yesterday.

I’m sure the woman in the charity shop I gave it to thought I was a little terse. The truth was, if she’d made a comment about it being a wedding dress I don’t think I would have held it together. The only way I managed to do it was by deliberately not unzipping the bag.

Most of us are equally sentimental about the dress or outfit in which we got married. Mine certainly had poignant memories attached to it. As well as it being the dress of my dreams, it was the one I wore the last time I saw my father.

Let me explain. The wedding day went without a hitch, the photographs were taken, the wedding breakfast eaten, Dad did a speech (about which he was very nervous) and my new husband and I flew off on honeymoon the following day. However, as we were sunning ourselves on the other side of the world, a drama was unfolding at home. Dad, never in the best of health, had a severe stroke and died. It was decided not to tell me until I came back to England.

The days following our return were very odd. I read letters of condolence while surrounded by unopened wedding presents. The photographer dropped off the wedding album which my father, a keen amateur photographer himself, had been desperate to see. And wouldn’t. Some of the same friends and family gathered for the funeral when three weeks earlier they’d witnessed a much happier event.

One letter contained a photograph that a guest had taken. Julie hadn’t known what to do about it. She didn’t know if it was a kind or tactless thing to do, to pass it on to me. It’s a snap of me and Dad having just got out of the wedding car on our arrival at the church. He’s looking happy and I’m laughing. And dressed in my cream dupion silk. I framed the photo and it sits in the dining room. Julie, you were absolutely right in getting it to me.

But it was time for the dress itself to go.

I hope, whatever its fate, as another wedding dress or maybe cut up so the material can be used, that it brings as much joy as it has to me.

It’s one thing to hang onto treasured objects, or to throw them out when necessary. Things can be replaced. I wish it was as straightforward with people. Cherish those around you; you never know how long you’ll have them.

Love,

Georgia x

PS What did you do with your wedding dress?  I’d love to know!