Clothes mark lifetime

I have become a repository for my mother's old clothes. Not her suddenly unstylish pant suit or her ill-fitting favorite skirt and sweater, but clothes of the heart. Over the years, she has given me clothes that she has saved through the years because they mark a special time in her life. She doles them out sparingly and almost holds on to them too tightly as she hands them over. Of course, I take them. It's easier that way.

When she pulled out an item and said, "Oh, I wore that the day your sister was christened," I am thinking, "That was at least 25 years ago. Why do you still have it?"

One day when I was visiting her, she pulled out what looked like lingerie. My mom is 89 and I don't ever remember seeing her in lingerie. It was a lavender and pale blue nightgown, short with a full skirt and fitted bodice.

"Your father gave me this the day I brought you home from the hospital," she said.

That surprised me that my dad would give her a slinky but tasteful nightie right after the birth of a baby. But I know that they fell in love at first sight and never looked back. Then it seemed rather sweet, until she explained to me that there was stain on it that she had never been able to remove.

I knew that she had been unable to wear this gown for more than 40 years. Still, I took it and once I got home, I put it in my plastic box under the bed wondering when I would be able to part with it.

Later she gave me three of her cocktail dresses. They were '60s dresses, definitely vintage and something I might actually wear. After some time, I pulled them out of my closet and tried them on. My mother must have had a figure like a wasp: curvy hips, tiny waist, ample chest and tiny arms.

Even though I have always been a calorie watcher and work out, I could not wear any of these dresses. The ones that fit through the hips and waist (holding my breath) were too tiny for my arms. Still, I have kept them thinking that one of my cool nieces might want them ... probably not.

My taste in clothes is good, but I am selective. I will spend money on a special dress or a new suit or something I really need and find just the right thing. I buy inexpensive shirts with decent suits. The shirts I wear for a year or so and replace. Perhaps, if I had the money, I would spend more freely on really beautiful clothes. But they are expensive.

I am like my mom that way. The only thing of great sentimental value that I have saved through the years is the outfit in which I was married. I say outfit because it was a skirt and blouse, not a wedding dress. I finally got rid of the skirt about a year ago, having long lost my wasp waist. I still have the blouse.

Maybe it is all a reminder of our similarities and differences. I don't keep clothes, but I keep letters and cards, which I read over and over again. Reading cards that my dad wrote to me or that my husband sent to me, really anyone in my family, makes me feel like they are here.

Since my dad died a few years ago, his notes are even more precious. Maybe that is why my mom keeps these clothes. It brings back a visual, a moment in time when she was very happy and in love.

Usually, I just take the clothes, which I will never wear, and put them in my box of old clothes to be donated. There is a story to go along with everything. It always makes me laugh to think about the reasons she has some of these outfits, especially when she thinks she might still wear it. But then, I like to think that I can still do things that I won't or can't, and that is how we are alike.

The last time I was visiting her with my sister, we decided to help her clean her closet. She had been moving her summer clothes out and winter clothes in and told us we could help her with a random pile she set aside. They were all things she could not or should not wear, but the final decision had not been made. We brought them out and went through the pile piece by piece.

Of course, there was some scoffing when she would say, "I just need to wash that, hem that, dry clean (the do-it-yourself kind)" or other uncertainty. I just started saying that I would take it and if I couldn't use it, I would put it in my stack to donate.

"What is this, Mom?" my sister asked.

Mom began to explain that she had made a vest out of the family tartan plaid. I know the McPherson tartan is near to her heart. Dad had a kilt made, and Mom had a skirt of the same fabric.

This thing looked like two small pieces of material sewn together with a neck and armholes cut out. There was no zipper or buttons for the front opening. Mom has never fancied herself a seamstress. She could hem pants and sew on buttons, but otherwise she had no talent for sewing.

Then the part of me that is like her said, "I'll take it." That odd-looking vest, made from the family plaid, will go into the plastic box with her nightie, my wedding blouse and lots of love.

Jan Christie Warner lives and writes in Charleston. Each day she finds a new view even if it's the same bridge and the same water crossed yesterday. Warner is a serial nonprofit devotee and has held positions in administrative management and communications for more than 20 years.