It was a suburban Missouri dry cleaner that processed 125 items from my mothers wardrobe after she died.
And on Tuesdays pants were a dollar.
With all the coupons added in, the bill was $375 cash.
Daniela Spector
Being her only child, I inherited (or perhaps, assumed) all her belongings.
Unlike me, who regularly purges or passes along clothes, my mother threw nothing away.
I was 23 and had just finished my first year working in magazines in New York.
Daniela Spector
My mothers sartorial eras were well photographed.
In the 70s she changed from a Catholic-school uniform into leotards and eventually handsewn cancan costumes.
At 16, she danced with Mikhail Baryshnikov when he performed with the Louisville Ballet.
Daniela Spector
Her collection of littleBetsey Johnsontops and mid-length skirts was unparalleled, and she was not afraid of patterns.
Myprom dress, which she proudly found, cost $2.99.
I nearly refused to try it on, but when I did it fit me like a glove.
Daniela Spector
Do you dry clean in bulk?
I remember calling to ask the dry cleaner up the road.
Im sure they werent expecting more than a hundred pieces.
Daniela Spector
Gosh, did someone die?
the woman asked, carefully tallying up each piece.
Well, yes, I replied.
Daniela Spector
She eventually pulled out a calculator.
The Archive of Suz, I call it, netted out about 200 pieces.
I tried on her wedding dress twice.
Daniela Spector
I started to imagine what dive bar the Forever 21 set would end up in.
And I gasped when a small collection of designer bags was uncovered.
He was born the day of her funeralkismet.
You will make mistakesyou will save too much, and you will throw things away that you regret.
Despite its gravity, this could never be a perfect practice.
When the boxes arrived from St. Louis to my apartment, I mixed those pieces with my own wardrobe.
The clothing was a protective layer and a walking story all at once.
I started to realize that her practice of uniform dressing has informed my own fashion philosophy.
The last time I saw my mother in a dress was at my college graduation.
(I insisted she shave her legs; she was not thrilled.)
Instead, I wore a dress she had made from a pattern while she was in college.
It was powerful; I wore it again a year later on a second date.
They sit in my underwear drawer, unworn, taking up spacea physical manifestation of the grief.
Years later, I realize it was impossible for that process to have been clean.
She had taken her own life and had spent the prior six months as a person I didnt recognize.
We didnt share clothes all that much when we were relatively the same size.
But now I find every chance I can to step out in something of hers.
She was working on a project called Inheritance and asked if Id wear my mothers things for her photos.
We still arent the same size, and that wont change.
(Some of her favorite pieces sit in my when I really commit to Pilates bin.)
People, even when gone, can show up in many ways.
