Back in 1994, outside Denver Colorado,
Our vacationing group went whitewater rafting.
In the company shop I saw a windbreaker, the only of its kind,
Glowing green and then purple as I looked at it from different angles,
A trick of the fabric that reminded me of a peacock's tail.

I had to have it.
Lord knows, it wasn't as if I needed another jacket.
It wasn't even on sale.
And I didn't really care for those over-the-head jobs.
I pursed my lips at the elastic in the wrists and bottom.
But I plonked down the price and took possession.
I had to have it. I didn't question why.

Over the years, I packed and dragged it from new home to new home,
From state to state.
I thought of getting rid of it each time I moved.
I could count on my two hands the number of times I had worn it.
But I just couldn't work up the will to let it go. I didn't question why.

Eight years later,
The mortuary called.
"We cannot embalm her," they apologized.
"We understand that some of the family have a need to see her.
"But the best we can do is show her right hand and wrist."
They gave my husband hushed details, and he gave them his understanding.
Then he turned to me. "They need something to dress her in for the viewing,
"A pretty blouse or maybe a jacket. Take more than one thing.
"They aren't sure what will work."

I nodded, and went to gather.
I took a delicate white cotton blouse from the hanger,
But I knew it probably wouldn't do for her poor shattered arm.
I grabbed a wooly jacket I had seen her put on at football games,
In the days before Color Guard, when the group could only warm with Sanctioned
Gear.

Then I paused.
I remembered the windbreaker hanging in the hall closet, mostly ignored,
The green and purple magic wasted in the dark.
Green and purple...her favorite colors.
Elastic at the wrists...the perfect thing.
I almost threw the other two things back, so certain was I in my heart
That this would be Krista's last fashion statement.

But I took all three, not wanting to disobey their professional request.
I only smiled when I was later told what they had chosen.
The family members went.
They held her cold, swollen hand
And noted the cuts and the dislocated finger.
They came away comforted, having said their good-byes.

I did not go. That was not the need I had.
What I needed was to know that my jacket
Wrapped her like a last hug in her favorite colors.
She would have smiled to know that.
She would have said "You're so cute!"

A windbreaker.
A thin jacket constructed to protect warm flesh
From the cold bite of the wind.

Not this time.
This time it held the cold carnage back from living warmth
And shielded raw hearts from the brutal truth beneath it.
It was a tearbreaker, then, perhaps.

I nodded at the rightness of the symbolism.
Our Krista was not there in that mangled flesh.
Material flesh wrapped in material.
Ashes to ashes, both.
True Life was elsewhere.

I only marveled, looking back at the me of years ago,
Standing in that rustic shop, buying a jacket
I did not need, but had to have.
I did not know I was buying it for my daughter's death,
I who did not know then that I would ever have a daughter.
Strange, the threads that weave us into unseen patterns.

This time I question why.



KHI

11/3/02