Wearing my heart on my dress

I’ve lost a considerable amount of weight in the last 6 months — I went from squeezing into larges and 12s to wearing mediums and 10s comfortably. As part of this move, I’ve gotten rid of about two-thirds of my wardrobe, and I’m still going.

Back in May, for my birthday, mom and dad came to the city to take me clothes shopping. Dad couldn’t bear the thought that I had only one dress that fit well. We spent the day shopping, and he helped me pick several amazing pieces. He’s the only person who’s ever been able to choose dresses for me — we look just alike, and he just always had a knack for it.

As I’m unpacking, I’m looking at those dresses in a whole new light. I know some of them won’t fit me as of this time next spring. So, for example, I can cling to the white lacy dress dad bought me earlier this year because he picked it, because he called me his “little girl” and laughed and smiled through unimaginable pain when I spun around in a circle and watched the dress flair out at my knees.

Or I can keep it because it really looks great on me, and I can recognize awesome memories aren’t trapped in the dresses and other stuff that happened to be around. The memories are in my heart.


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