The fragile dress hung delicately on a hanger in my closet for months. It was my mother's Communion dress, passed down to me. As she gently laid it out on my bed that morning, she whispered, "This is a very special dress for a very special day." That day was my first Communion.
Dressed in white, waltzing down the aisle next to a boy fitted nicely in a dark blue suit, friends and family looking on, I felt like a miniature...
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