Not the Life I Imagined

I was 17 when Mom got the diagnosis of Cancer. She had not been well for a couple of months, and finally gave in and went for a checkup. Honestly, she took the news better than Dad did. He nearly fell apart. Mom went through all the treatments available, only improving for a week or two, at a time, then reverting back to severe illness. Four months into treatments, she was so weak, I took over the cooking, cleaning, laundry, as much as I could. She, I think realizing the future more than I, instructed me on everything, and, by the eighth month, I was keeping things up as well as she had.

Dad was a big burly guy who fell head over heels for mom. They went to school together and by both accounts, he followed her around like a puppy. She mentioned several times that he really wasn't "her type", but his persistence wore her down, and she did fall in love with him, too. I don't think I ever heard either of them say a cross word to each other, and fortunately, not too many to me, either. Even near the end, she was a very attractive woman. As happens sometimes, I looked more like her, than Dad. Maybe because he loved her so, he never seemed to mind. I hear that dads want a son to hang out with, and mold, but he seemed fine, even though I was the only child. (Apparently, I was a difficult birth, and the doctors recommended that she not conceive again) She doted over me most of my childhood

I turned eighteen two weeks before we buried mom. Dad was falling apart those last few weeks, when mom would fall out of clarity. So, when she died, I had to have help from my Uncle and Aunt, to keep him focused on final arrangements. He got through the funeral, but barely. When we got him home, he went to bed and stayed there for two days. I'd bring him food, which he barely ate, and he was drinking far too much. In the days that followed, he was staying loaded almost completely. I would catch him staring at me, in his drunken haze. If he saw me catching him, he'd mutter out, "You look so much like your Mom, Ellis, SO much like her. It helps me to watch you.

I kind of understood it, I had her features, was about the same size, but it still was a bit freaky. A couple of weeks after her burial, I was washing dishes, and he came up behind me, and hugged me. The whisky breath was strong, as he whispered in my ear. "Ellis, w-would you do something for me? Please? I know it'll sound weird, but, I miss her so much. Would you, um, would you wear one of her dresses when you're cleaning? It would be almost like she's here. I pushed back, trying to free myself from between him and the sink. "Dad, are you crazy? I... can't do that, that's pretty fucked up. And, HOW would it help? Mom is gone!"

"I k-know she is, son, but, I see her in you every day. I just think it might help."

He started crying and walked away. I heard him go to his room, and heard him glugging down more alcohol. It hurt me to see him this pitiful, and at this rate, he was, without a doubt, going to drink himself to death, and I'd have no one. I went to bed, but tossed and turned. I knew he'd never consent to getting professional help, and I was lost on what to do to get him out of his depression. He has nearly used up up his bereavement time, and could lose his job. A big part of me knew it was wrong, but I was desperate to help him.

I waited until I heard him snoring, and slipped into his room. I found a couple of mom's dresses, and bras (I figured I could pad them with socks, so it would fill them out) and shoes. I went to her vanity (nothing had been touched), and picked out things I'd remember her using. The next morning, I got up, dressed, and, using one of her pictures, made my face up as close as I could. I slipped on the heels, and practiced walking in them. I combed my hair as close as I could to hers. I'd try anything. Maybe the image might shock him out of the depression. As long as no one else saw, I figured it would be no harm. I had to admit, I did look like pictures of mom, when she was young. It might just work. I made coffee, and set out items to make breakfast, when I heard Dad stirring. I made sure to position myself by the sink, when he came out.

"ELLIE! Oh my God!" he cried out, almost running to me. He pushed right up to me, arms wrapping around me. "Oh, Baby! I missed you!" He was nuzzling my neck, hands all over me. I have to tell you, I was shaking. Had I screwed up? Would this make things worse? Could they BE any worse? I turned myself to face him, barely able to hold him off me.

"Dad, it's me, Ellis. You, um, asked me to wear mom's dress, so..."

His eyes widened, as he focused on my face. "Oh, son, y-yes, I did...but, I thought you wouldn't do it. You look just like her. SO beautiful!". I didn't know what to say. Poor dad. I thought I did an ok job, but he definitely felt better about it. And, he SMILED. Wow, for the first time in months.

"Listen, Dad... if...if I do this, it has to be at HOME, ok? I don't want anyone else seeing me like this, right? I feel weird enough already. Anyone else would think we are both crazy, understand?" He nodded, "If it helps you, though, I'll do it, for a while." I think I was trying convince myself, as much as him, that it would help. Clearly, though, even somewhat hung over, he seemed more like his old self. We had breakfast, and he went to the couch, turned on the news, while I cleaned up. I caught him several times, staring, but he was smiling, so that had to be an improvement. I admit, every time I passed a mirror, or reflection in a window, I saw mom, and it felt good. Like she wasn't here, but was.

I was sweeping the floors, when he asked if I would sit with him. I nodded and sat on the couch,,, but he got out of his chair and sat close to me, putting his arm around my shoulder. "this is nice. I love you for doing this, Ellis, I know it makes you uncomfortable, but, it really helps me. If-if you can do this for a while, maybe I can get back to normal, and go back to work." So, while I was nervous, and unsure, it was working. He didn't drink all day. Occasionally, he would come up behind me, and hold me, but it never got out of hand. WHEW, as strange as it was, dressed as mom, it was working.

The next morning, same thing, I got up, got dressed, and made up, and made breakfast. Dad woke up, peeked out to see me, then showered, shaved. He came to the kitchen, dressed for work, and ate. When he finished, he stood up, came over, kissed my cheek, and said, "See you tonight, Honey, I'm off to work." And he did. I don't think my Dad ever kissed me. Still, he went to work! Small miracle. I started thinking of other things to do to make it better for him. Also, I found myself feeling better in mom's clothes. I went to the bedroom, and looked for more things. When I got to her lingerie drawer, I found myself getting hard, looking at, and touching, nightie sets, panties, and even a couple of sexy bras, that, I guessed, she wore on special occasions.

I looked through her other dresses, skirts, blouses, too, remembering some of them, and how good they looked on her. I'd never really thought of her that way, but mom could be very sexy. I found a drawer with stockings. I thought they probably were pantyhose, when I'd see them on her legs, but it turns out they were "stayups", and a few that needed a corset (yes, she had a couple) or what I learned later, was a garter belt. They felt so good in my hands, I had to rub them on my skin. I'd never felt anything so erotic. I had to masturbate 3 times that day, I was so excited. I knew LOOKING at women in sexy clothes was highly erotic, but wearing them took it to a whole another level. I lost four hours, just playing in her clothing.

An hour before Dad got home, I freshened up my makeup, and put on a different dress, with stockings and heels, and had dinner ready to serve. I was pretty pleased with myself. I'd never enjoyed housework this much, ever. A thought came to me, from an old television show. When Dad walked in the door, I tiptoed up, kissed his cheek, and said, "How was your day, dear?" I thought it would be funny, and he chuckled, grabbed me around my waist, and walked me to the kitchen, telling me it was better, now that he was home. I was thrilled that Dad was happy. I wasn't sure how long I'd need to do this, but admitted to myself that I was having fun.

It was amazing. Dad's face lit up, he talked about his day at work, and how nice I looked, how good it felt to get back into things. It wasn't even feeling that weird, when Dad would put his hand on mine, when he was talking, or put his arm around my waist When I was putting away the dishes, and I liked it when he noticed the stockings. He commented on how he loved how mom's legs felt in them. I blushed a little when I told him they felt that good ON legs, too. I thought to myself, I'll miss this. But, that's another day, it's only dad's first day back to work. Maybe in a week, or so.