I finally got rid of my wedding dress. Dresses. It’s a long story.

Not surprisingly, for anyone who knows me, I tend to hang on to things. I’m always afraid I’ll forget where I came from, the people who made me, the times that shaped me. My wedding dresses represent touchstone moments for me. Not necessarily in sentimentality for the marriage that didn’t last, but to remember who I was then. But for my 71^st birthday, I gave myself the gift of purging.

The biggest, most beautiful wedding dress was the one my mother bought me in 1974. I was 20. No, I shouldn’t have gotten married that young. Especially me, who had no idea about anything at that point. But here I was in the shop with my mother, who had a budget. And this dress was way over the budget my father had agreed to. My mother always had a secret stash of money squirrelled away. Who knows how. Buying the cheaper cut of meat one day, a fish on sale—I don’t know. So that day when she looked at her youngest daughter in a beautiful dress that was too expensive, she dipped into her massive purse that always had a snack for me as a child, and brought out a small purse with a metal clip at the top. You know the kind. That clicks loudly on closing. In the dressing room, she counted carefully. “Yes,” she said, her eyes watery, staring into my eyes in the mirror. “Are you sure mom, it’s a lot.” “Yes, we don’t have to tell your father.” As far as I know, she never did tell him. In 1974, that dress was $200. Today, after holding on to it for 50 years, I was ready to part with it.

The second wedding dress was a short mistake, as was the marriage. Both gratefully gone.

The third (yes, there is more), was very pretty with delicate ivory lace at the neck and a dramatic matching hat. The dress is meaningful because as much sturm and drang that marriage gave me, it also gifted me with an amazing son who has now given me a treasured grandson. But, it was time for this relic to go in the donation bag too.

I don’t usually talk about the fact that I am married to my fourth husband. I was a slow learner. That’s all I’m prepared to cop to at the moment. An essay is no place to explain that whole gestalt. I’ve always thought it may be another book. Back to the dress, this one was a simple print dress in muted colors with a tailored jacket. I’ve never worn it again, and it doesn’t fit, so that one goes too. I don’t need a dress to remind me how lucky I am to have found this man, this marriage, this life. Happy birthday to me.