Yes, I wear black. I’ve been wearing black since the day after Bobby died. I’ve been told its “creepy”. I’ve also been told I’m too old to be “goth” – that it is a “high school thing”. Recently, several friends, relatives and colleagues have asked me after the six month mark when I am going to stop. My answer? "When I open my drawer one day and I want to wear something else." It's intrinsic. The choice must come from within.
The tradition comes down from my ethnic heritage; my grandmother wore black for a year after my grandfather died. I wasn’t even born yet at the time, so I don’t know if she just stopped wearing black exactly one year and one day after it happened, or not. It’s just that it felt right when I started, and still feels right. The only time I don’t wear black is when I am wearing Bobby’s clothing around the house, which consists of his pajama pants, his t-shirts and his fuzzy bathrobe.
It’s not like I’m wearing a long black gown and a black lace veil to go with it. I still wear modern clothes (black jeans, corduroys, dress pants) and normal black blouses and sweaters with various embellishments – I even bought a black t-shirt for myself that says “Rock and Roll Hall of Fame” when I took my kids there over the summer. I don’t feel like I’m being creepy or goth. I’m just doing what I feel like doing. Wearing colors, right now, does not feel right. One of my colleagues recently told me that she cannot believe that someone can wear all black, every day, and still have the wide variety of outfits that I have.
Besides, there are a lot of good things about wearing all black. First and foremost, it was Bobby’s favorite color in clothing and he liked me in black. And you wouldn’t believe how incredibly easy it is to get dressed in the morning for work when all your clothes are the same color. Not to mention the slimming effect....