My mother’s nightgowns
There was the one I threw away. I wish I hadn’t. It was tattered and torn and she hadn’t worn it in years. Black with red roses, a thin, see-through fabric. “You dad gave it to me,” she said. Which means that it had probably been expensive. And which explains why she kept it. In the bottom of a drawer of unworn and basically useless things. But still, she kept it. I was in cleaning mode. “Ok if I toss this?” I asked my mother. I think this is when she said, “your dad gave it to me.” But then, very quickly, she said, “sure.” My mother is 97 and not very sentimental. The moment I dumped the gown into the garbage can in our backyard, I regretted it. I considered fishing it back out. But I didn’t.
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There is the one I bought for her at a Target in Vallejo while we were evacuated during the Santa Rosa fires of 2017. I had helped her throw a bag of her things together in a hurry when we decided that the firestorm, after devastating Coffey Park and Fountaingrove, and now threatening Kaiser Hospital on Mendocino Avenue, two miles down the street from our house, had come too close for comfort. My mother, who had survived the fire bombing of Berlin during World War II, was remarkably calm. Some long forgotten mental autopilot kicked in. She didn’t fret over what to bring. She did pack a few of the books she wrote. Later she would laugh about that and comment on her vanity. My daughter insisted on stuffing another suitcase full of all of my mother’s diaries – a lifetime’s worth, 90+ years of handwritten daily testimonials. My daughter was not going to let these get lost to the fire. In the end, nothing of ours got lost to the fire. Our house was fine, our neighborhood was fine, our stuff was fine, we were fine. But we forgot to pack a nightgown for my mother. So I bought her a teal green cotton one at Target in Vallejo that night. Cheap and very soft. She still wears it.
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There is a black and pink and green flowery cotton one that I remember from my childhood days growing up in Hamburg, Germany. I can still see it hanging from its hook in our gray-tiled bathroom, next to our matching terrycloth bathrobes. First there were three bathrobes, and then there were two. After he died, I took over my father’s side of the bathroom, sink and shelf and mirror. His aftershave and electric razor were replaced by my Clearasil and fluoride toothpaste. We gave his terrycloth robe to the German version of Goodwill. But I kept my father’s other robe, forest-green-and-navy-blue plaid, even though it was much too big for a ten-year-old girl, and made from a scratchy fabric. I didn’t wear it much but I held on to it. It is still hanging in my closet. My mother still wears that flowery nightgown. It is so soft and comforting to touch, like the sole of a baby’s foot. I can’t believe it continues to survive the rough treatment by American washing machines and dryers. Some things last a long time.
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There is the pink one with tiny white polka dots that I recently ordered on Amazon when my mother said she needed a new nightgown because she couldn’t find the teal green one from Target in Vallejo. I went online right away. I felt neglectful for not having gotten her a new nightgown since 2017 (five years ago.) My mother can’t really try on things in stores anymore so I have to guess at size and style when I buy something for her. She loves light pink, it goes really well with her white hair and light complexion and blue eyes. The nightgown I chose seemed perhaps a little too girly– it has a ruffled neckline and those tiny white polka dots– but my mother likes it. I also got her a simple yellow one but I don’t think she wears it. For 30 years, my mother was the editor-in-chief of Germany’s biggest women’s magazine, BRIGITTE. She still has a keen eye for fashion and expresses her likes and dislikes adamantly. When we used to go on outings to San Francisco’s Union Square for shopping, my mother would loudly comment on other people’s unfortunate fashion choices. In German, of course. Today, she looks in the mirror and laments how old age has ravaged her face and body. My mother can be a harsh critic.
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I don’t wear nightgowns. I wear T-shirts and pajama pants to bed. Preferably old, worn concert T-shirts and oversized soft pajama pants. My current favorite combo is an off-white Daniel Johnston Hi-How-Are-You-Day T-Shirt combined with my daughter’s old cat pajama pants. When it’s cold (which it is often on these Northern California nights) I wear a ragged army green polyester sweater that used to be fuzzy until I fatefully put it in the dryer one day. I bought it for my daughter at Forever 21 probably a decade ago. My daughter is 23 now and lives in Chicago. Neither one of us shop at Forever 21 anymore. But I still wear that sweater everyday. I hold on to things.
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