The Size of Things
Pepper Scott
We all go through seasons when our bodies change. I think it is natural. All things change. Everyone changes. Still, it can be a little startling when we see those changes in numbers, shapes, and sizes.
Of all people, Terry had the hardest time accepting the changes he saw in himself.
Back in the earlier years, before I knew better, when we were not yet married and lived thousands of miles apart, I remember asking Terry what size pants he wore so I could buy him some new ones.
“32,” he would answer quickly and confidently.
Now, you should know how women shop. We do not buy just one thing. Certainly not just one pair of pants. So I would send him several pairs in different styles and colors.
Then came the phone call.
“Terry, did you get the pants?”
“Yes, Honey. You are so sweet to buy me gifts. These pants are really nice. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like them.”
A pause.
“Honey, they must have changed clothing sizes somehow. Size 32 is not the same as it used to be.”
I was puzzled. And slightly worried.
“Oh no. Don’t they fit you?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make them fit. I have a lot of clothes now. Let’s shop together when you get here, OK?”
And so that day came. We went shopping together in Tucson.
None of the size 32 pants fit him.
With the store associate’s help, we finally found a few pairs that we could take home.
Terry was not exactly angry when we got home. He was more confused. Bewildered, really.
They were size 38.
He stared at them.
“I used to eat double and triple-decker cheeseburgers trying to get bigger, and I was always like a stick. Now I wear 38?”
Well.
There are moments in life when a man simply has to sit with the facts.
As time passed, Terry’s MS slowed him down, but he still worked out and tried to stay in shape. Then one day, he lost his mobility, along with the hand, foot, and brain coordination that had once made getting dressed such an ordinary part of the day.
Clothing changed completely.
The size was no longer the problem.
Getting the clothes on was.
Terry was a tall man, and we had to figure out together how I could help him get dressed without requiring him to stand up or even get out of bed first. It took some experimenting, some patience, and a fair amount of creative thinking.
Then I pulled out my sewing machine.
I figured it out.
The challenge was not really the size. It was the awkwardness. So I started making Terry’s clothes to fit the way his body worked now. I changed patterns, adjusted openings, and found ways to make everything easier.
And once you figure something out, well, you get into it.
I made more clothes.
Then I made our own clothing tags.
I still remember the look on Terry’s face when I showed him the clothes I had made, complete with those little tags sewn inside.
His eyes lit up.
I still have the tags.
I no longer have Terry to make clothes for, but I have those little pieces of fabric, and the memories stitched into them.
And you know, wherever he is now, that mischievous man is probably looking down at me and saying,
“Honey, I don’t need no stinking clothes!”
And somehow, I can almost hear him.
Which makes me smile.
