The Clothes of the Dead
Did you ever wear clothes of the dead? I did and it has left an impression on me.
I started to write this as a poem but couldn’t get that to work, so here it is as a prose piece.
I must have been around ten or eleven. My father was not making much money. I seldom had new clothes, usually hand-me downs from family and church friends. I wasn’t really aware of their origin. They were usually in good shape. One family in particular passed their growing son’s clothes on to me. I always appreciated them, until tragedy struck.
He was a couple of years older than me. His family had a large farm where he helped out. That summer when I was ten or eleven, death hit that family. Their son died in an accident in a silo or a piece of farm machinery. Thankfully, I don’t remember the details. All I do remember is it being quite gruesome. It took his family a long time to deal with it. They hung on to his clothes for over a year.
One afternoon, my dad came home. He came into the house asked me to help him. He opened the trunk of the car. It was filled with clothes, all for me. I asked where they came from. They were from the dead boy. I don’t remember my reaction at the time. I don’t know if I was happy or sad. What I do remember is feeling guilt and a burden put on me.
I now had new, to me, clothes for school and for church. I do remember some comments from others in church about how one suit coat and pants were a little big for me. My mother said something to them and they just nodded. My imagination filled in the rest. I was not happy and remember crying when I got home to my room. Why did I have to wear the clothes of the dead? Did others die and I got their clothes too? What did that make me?
I got over it or buried in deep in my self conscious. I never felt comfortable around the dead boy’s family ever again. I tried to talk to my parents about it, they didn’t understand and said I should be grateful. I thought, “A kid dies and I should feel thankful for getting his clothes?” I know now they meant better, but I felt very guilty. I still ponder that once in a while.