“I can turn this into a prom dress.” She looked at me. “But Mom, are you really okay with that?”
Honestly, part of me wasn’t. Being a police officer had meant everything to Matt, and his uniform was a reminder that he’d died doing a job that he believed in.
But my daughter was here; she needed this, and I knew that whatever she made out of Matt’s uniform would be beautiful.
“I can turn this into a prom dress.”
“Of course, I’m okay with you honoring your father.” I pulled her into a hug. “I can’t wait to see what you make.”
***
For the next two months, our house turned into a workshop.
The dining room table disappeared under fabric she bought to match the uniform, where she needed extra pieces. The sewing machine came down from the hall closet. Thread rolled under chairs. Pins ended up in impossible places.
The badge stayed in its velvet box on the mantle for almost the entire project. It wasn’t his real one. That had gone back to the department after the funeral. This one was far more special
