A few weeks ago, my youngest daughter Gemma-Rose began preparations for her confirmation. She attended classes with the local school children on Saturday afternoons. She chose a patron saint and a sponsor. All that was left to do was find a suitable dress for her to wear to the ceremony.
When Sophie was confirmed we were told the expected dress code would be white dresses for girls and formal wear for boys. So our second youngest daughter wore a beautiful white dress very much like a First Holy Communion dress.
But for Gemma-Rose's confirmation, I knew none of the parish girls planned to wear elaborate white dresses, and so I didn’t insist she wore one either. We thought a new Sunday best dress would be the appropriate choice.
But for Gemma-Rose's confirmation, I knew none of the parish girls planned to wear elaborate white dresses, and so I didn’t insist she wore one either. We thought a new Sunday best dress would be the appropriate choice.
I knew I wouldn’t find anything remotely suitable in our local shops, so I headed online. Surely they’d be lots of dresses to choose from? But after googling many combinations of words such as ‘dress’, ‘girl’s’, 'tweens', ‘formal’, ‘special’, ‘modest’, ‘winter’ and even ‘party’, I began to doubt there was such thing as a special winter dress, available in Gemma-Rose’s size. Eventually, I found a couple of options which weren't perfect but might be acceptable.
After consulting Gemma-Rose, I ordered a black pinafore dress, thinking she could wear a long sleeved white shirt underneath it. I added a white cardigan with sparkly buttons to my order. We thought black tights and ballet flat shoes would complete the outfit.
After consulting Gemma-Rose, I ordered a black pinafore dress, thinking she could wear a long sleeved white shirt underneath it. I added a white cardigan with sparkly buttons to my order. We thought black tights and ballet flat shoes would complete the outfit.
Even though I knew Gemma-Rose would look very smart in her new clothes, there was a niggling thought at the back of my mind. Was black suitable for a confirmation? Would people criticise our choice?
“Mum, black and white look formal. We wear those colours when we sing with the church choir,” my daughter Imogen reassured me. "And it's not as if we have much choice." Unless, of course, we chose to ignore the custom of our parish and dress Gemma-Rose in an elaborate white gown. Blend in or make a statement? Sometimes children want to feel they belong.
Gemma-Rose, dressed in her new black dress, appeared radiant as the bishop said, “Maximilian Kolbe, be sealed with the Gift of the Holy Spirit.” Charlotte, who had her hand on Gemma-Rose’s right shoulder, looked as full of joy as her younger sister.
I will never again have to deliberate over a child’s confirmation clothes. All eight of our children have now been confirmed. Even our son Thomas received this Gift.
Early on the second day of Thomas’ life, a nurse woke me saying, “It doesn’t look like your baby will live much longer.” With a pounding heart, I slipped out of my hospital bed, thrust my feet into my slippers and hurried to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit where Thomas was hooked up to a life-support system.
I expected to see my husband Andy by Thomas’ side, but he wasn’t there. No one had seen him for some time. Fear gripped me. What if I were alone when Thomas died? Thoughts raced through my mind, but, somehow, one very important one thrust aside all the frightened ones: I wanted Thomas to be confirmed.
The hospital chaplain arrived. A Catholic nurse held my hand as the priest sealed Thomas with the Gift of the Holy Spirit.
Thomas wasn’t dressed in white for his confirmation. He was wearing only a nappy when his soul was clothed with the Holy Spirit.
By the time Andy arrived back at the hospital, (he'd left for a short break), Thomas' condition had improved. "I've seen miracles after confirmation," someone told us. Once again, I dared to hope. Maybe our son wouldn't die after all.
We asked a friend to bring our other children from home to the hospital to meet their brother. Unfortunately, by the time they arrived, hope had once again disappeared. Hellos were quickly followed by goodbyes. There was no miracle. But confirmation had given us the gift of time.
Thomas died in our arms, with his soul radiant with grace.
White dress, black dress, nappy? Sometimes all that matters is one’s heart and the Gift of the Holy Spirit.
By the time Andy arrived back at the hospital, (he'd left for a short break), Thomas' condition had improved. "I've seen miracles after confirmation," someone told us. Once again, I dared to hope. Maybe our son wouldn't die after all.
We asked a friend to bring our other children from home to the hospital to meet their brother. Unfortunately, by the time they arrived, hope had once again disappeared. Hellos were quickly followed by goodbyes. There was no miracle. But confirmation had given us the gift of time.
Thomas died in our arms, with his soul radiant with grace.
White dress, black dress, nappy? Sometimes all that matters is one’s heart and the Gift of the Holy Spirit.
