The uniform was neatly pressed, still clean. I put my arm around her shoulders and stared at it silently.
Wren touched the sleeve with two fingers.
“Well? Do you think it could work?”
“Open it. Let’s see what you have to work with.”
My late husband’s mother had taught Wren to sew when she was young. Wren still had her old sewing machine, and occasionally begged me for fabric to make her own clothes.
“It’s cheaper than buying what’s fashionable at the store,” she’d say.
Wren’s brow furrowed as her hands moved across the uniform.
“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.
“Of course, I’m okay with you honoring your father.”
I remembered the night he gave it to her.
Wren had been three, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, when Matt came home and crouched beside her.
“I’ve got something for you.” He pulled a small object from his pocket and held it out.
A badge.
