After the funeral, I washed the dress and hung it in my closet. Anytime I would want to wear it, I would tell myself that it was my funeral dress, so I couldn’t possible wear it on a normal day.

My fear was that it would bring back memories. I was afraid the pain I sometimes forgot would return and I had no business purposely inflicting heartache on myself. I didn’t want to remember.

I didn’t want to remember that on April 9th, 2022 I wore this dress to bid my dead brother farewell. I did not want to remember the flyer with my brothers face on it. I did not want to remember that I went shopping specifically for a black dress for his funeral.

A few hours before the funeral, I with my sister, aunties, and mother packaged what we call small chops (snacks) and drinks to give to the people who would be attending the funeral. I cried myself into a nap after that. I just couldn’t believe whose funeral I would be attending later on that night. When I woke up from my nap, the family got ready. I wore my black dress, tied my hair with black scarf, penciled in my eyebrows and put on lip gloss. I did not want to look like my pain. I walked into the funeral carrying huge photos of my dead brother that would be put on display for all to see as they walked in. The first person I saw was the dj who offered to play for free because my brother “would have done the same” according to him. I went over to thank him for his kind gesture. He was “sorry” for my loss.

People trickled in and out of the funeral. There were lots of tears and some laughter. There was a deep sense of loss. During the service, I went to the bathroom to cry. I looked at myself in my black dress, still wondering why and how I was the one living this experience. It seemed unreal. For someone who didn’t really go to funerals, it was unbelievable that my brother’s funeral was the one I was at.

When the funeral was over, I was relieved to take off the dress, fold it and bring it back to my home. I washed it and hung it, and declared it as my funeral dress. Until I decided I no longer wanted it to be.

So I wore the dress to church. I didn’t want the dress to become this painful reminder that just hung in my closet. A dress I was afraid to touch or wear or even look at. So I wore the dress. I did my makeup. And declared that it was no longer my funeral dress, it was simply a black dress I wore to funeral.