Hurricane Sandy: Coat of Many Colors

by Guest Contributor

written by Alysia Butler

I took another sip of my wine and I opened the coat closet.

I was spending the evening gathering up blankets, shoes, and sheets to donate to a clothing drive for the victims of Hurricane Sandy.  The Girl Scout troop in our town arranged for a large truck to be at our high school in the morning and I wanted to help fill it.

I found sweaters that were still packed up from our move six years ago.  Crib sheets that were of no use to us anymore.  Winter boots that my kids had outgrown years ago.  All into the box.

The posting came on Facebook that what they really needed were jackets.  The weather was about to get quite chilly and no power means no heat.

So out came another empty box.  And to the coat closet I went.

I moved some winter jackets around and some rain coats.  The ones that still fit my kids went to one side.  The LL Bean pullover fleece that I hadn’t worn in years came out.  As did a button down Gap jacket.

And then there it was.

My dad’s old gray Black Diamond fleece coat.

It’s been hanging in one coat closet or another of mine for almost 14 years now.  One of three articles of clothing that I have of his.

I don’t wear it.  Ever.  It hasn’t been washed since he died.

It just hangs there in the closet.  No matter what season, that coat stays.

I can still see him in that coat even after all this time.  It’s that soft heather gray color with black trim around the collar.  It was an in-between season coat – not quite warm enough for a winter coat but too warm for early fall and late spring.

A “mud season” coat I guess.  Going by Vermont seasons.

He had a gray Black Diamond vest that was just like it and he wore that all the time when he was sick.  When I think back to the memories of him those last months, he’s in that vest.

I don’t know where that vest is now.

And really I never understood the vest anyway.  How does that keep you warm?  I need something that covers me…something that envelopes me.  Something I can feel secure in.  Like a big fleece hug.

The big fleece hug hung there in the closet.

It was begging me to donate it.  It makes sense, right?  After all these years it should go to someone who really needs it. To someone from the hard hit areas of Long Island where my dad grew up.  Or to someone from the city where he first taught.

And considering how much he gave to others in his life and how much he taught us to give back, shouldn’t I give up this coat so that someone else can use it? So that a father can wrap it around his daughter to keep her safe and warm?

I pushed the coat aside and pulled out a 3T sized raincoat.

I closed the coat closet door.

The memories are starting to fade after all these years.  Some days I feel him so close, other days he’s so far away.  I try to remember things but I can’t.

It’s just a coat.  But I still need it.

I take the 3T raincoat and put it on top of the box.  I slip some money into the pocket of the LL Bean pullover fleece, hoping to bring a “Hey! Found money!” smile to whomever wears it next.

Tomorrow I’ll put the boxes in the car and bring them to the high school.

I sit here now in the dark with another glass of wine.

The coat is just on the other side of the wall.

It will stay with me for a while longer.

And oh I couldn’t understand it, for I felt I was rich
And I told them of the love my mamma sewed in every stitch
And I told them all the story, mamma told me while sewed
And how my coat of many colors, was worth more than all their clothes.

But they didn’t understand it and I tried to make them see
that one is only poor, only if they choose to be
Now I know we had no money, but I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors, my mamma made for me
Made just for me.”

– Coat of Many Colors by Dolly Parton

Take a moment to donate what you can to relief efforts on the East Coast.  My family and my friends who are like family need your support. If you can’t donate money, find a drop off location for coats, blankets, shoes, and non-perishable items. Please.

 

Alysia lives in Massachusetts with her husband and three sons. She is active in the special needs community through her volunteer work, specifically as the managing editor of the SPD Blogger Network, a website designed to connect parents of children with sensory processing disorder and through her own personal blog Try Defying Gravity. She is also the co-founder of The Oxygen Mask Project, a site designed to remind parents to take a breath and take care of themselves while they take care of their children.

 

 

 

Donate blankets, batteries and candles. More info on where to donate.



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{ 11 comments… read them below or add one }

1 Bil Hooper November 6, 2012 at 3:10 pm

So awesome, Alysia.

The only thing I have left of my dad’s is a pocket knife. It’s in the bottom of my sock drawer, and there it will stay. I almost lost it once, before 9-11-2001, I absentmindedly had it in my coat in the airport.

Security personnel spotted it in their scan, and I surrendered it for their examination. The blade was about 4-5 inches long. The guard pursed her lips, looked me over, and handed it back to me. “Have a nice flight.” That would’ve been an unthinkable conclusion a year later, when we were forced to throw dull craft scissors in the garbage so we could get on our plane.

I may never use or carry the knife again, because I don’t want to lose it for fear I might lose a powerful connection to my memories of him. :)

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2 Jessica November 6, 2012 at 3:21 pm

What a great post, I have things of my daughter’s that I know I should donate but just can’t bring myself to do it. Maybe someday when I don’t need it all as much as I do now.
Love what your city is doing as well

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3 Lizbeth November 6, 2012 at 4:02 pm

You know what? It’s not time for you to let go of the coat. Maybe later but not now. I know the loss of having someone close to you go too soon. There are plenty of things that can go to help those in need but not the coat. I think he would understand.

xxoo
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4 J-Nut November 6, 2012 at 4:34 pm

My parents still have many things that belonged to my brother. We know they are just “things” but they are also memories, connections to a person we loved. I have several things of my brother’s but one of my favorites is his fraternity sweatshirt. I can picture him wearing it, and when I put it on now, I know that it was something he wore as well.
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5 Amanda November 6, 2012 at 4:40 pm

Sometimes a jacket is more than a jacket.
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6 Stimey November 6, 2012 at 5:03 pm

I get this so much. I wouldn’t have given it away either. Some things are not things, but touchstones, that show you the preciousness in your memory. I have one article of clothing that belonged to my father. I don’t remember him wearing it (I barely remember him at all), it doesn’t have his smell, it has a huge rip in the back—but I will never give it away. Never.

Beautiful post.
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7 Jill Robson November 6, 2012 at 7:38 pm

Alysia you brought tears to my eyes. I know what it’s like to lose a parent. The time will come when it will be the right time for you to donate your fathers’ coat. Have courage that time will come.
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8 Patty November 6, 2012 at 8:01 pm

You totally brought me to tears with this one. I love reading posts about you and your dad. The love you shared is almost tangible and it’s so touching. I agree–keep the coat. You need it.

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9 Niksmom November 6, 2012 at 8:13 pm

As others have already said, sometimes it’s not about the object per se but about the connections and associations. I have things which belonged to each of my grandparents that I will never part with. Sometimes, all I have to do is touch them and I am transported back to a different time and place in my heart. Keep that coat and let it bring you warmth in every sense.
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10 Bec Oakley November 6, 2012 at 8:30 pm

This was such a beautiful post. I don’t live in the same country as my father, and it makes me realize how little tangible evidence of him I have in my life. I think you did the right thing.
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11 Miz Kp November 6, 2012 at 10:04 pm

I loved this post. Your dad’s coat symbolizes so much more than a physical piece of clothing. I think holding onto it is okay. I have not lost a parent but I know how I felt when my grandma died. This post brought tears to my eyes.

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