Each time I add a new item to my wardrobe, I give something away. The black little dresses are my favourite. I started buying them in my 20s and never stopped. I'm not able to let go of them, or the memories they bring. Weddings. Bar and bat mitzvahs. Brit milahs. Every I do, mazel tv and bracha is a promise. Every time I attended an event my sisters and me as a family, following in our mother's meticulously curated steps, exchanged photos and fashion notes and usually brought several outfits, just in case.

I was the one who reliably was black, as did my Bubbe Rose when I was growing up. I can only guess that she wore black to mask her zaftig curves, or perhaps wearing black was an understatement, a way to blend and assimilate, as she did with her not-a-trace-of-an-accent English.

When I was a kid my mother was always present for the Yom Kippur ceremony called a yizkor. Every year, she carried her sorrow out of the house, dressed in a new black square neck dress, a hat, shoes, purse and gloves. I imagined her sitting in a pew while she recited the names of her parents as well as her two younger siblings, who had gone to the heavenly realms: Eva, Beatrice, Saul. In pure white, my mother's earthly attire was so grave that she recalled her loved ones. I can remember lying on the floor in the living room waiting for the return of my mother. I was too young to comprehend the significance of mourning. As I grew up, I started to appreciate the beauty and happiness associated with the solemnity of a black dresses.

Every woman should have a black dress in their wardrobe. I'm with them. I agree. LBD is stylish, slimming and goes with everything. You can dress it up with heels and pearls or dress it down by adding slip-ons and silver. Coco Chanel is thought to have started the trend. Audrey Hepburn, however was the first to make the dress black a popular choice in "Breakfast at Tiffany's". I have a few.

I was not told that the LBD would alter with each decade. The flirty feel of spandex would soon give way to the ageing of silk. That by the time I reached 60 and beyond, the LBD would become the go-to garment, not for cocktail-party glide, but for repeating the Kaddish prayer in such a way that I could repeat it at night. That the prayer would be chanted not only for my ancestors, but for my peers. The death of a peer will be a common occurrence and was once thought to be as an exception.

While I'm in my dresser, I glance through my black dress collection, much like mother-to-be holding her baby's forehead. The fibers are infused with rose and amber perfumes. My hand rests on Lindi's velvet dress that she gifted me in Paris. A deep V-neck with an edgy hem. I was wearing it to my mother's celebration of her life with a vintage gold silk blouse. This was more than ten years ago. My siblings and me had black kriah bands on our hearts during Shiva. This was a sign of how broken we were following the death of our mother. When shva ended that I would wear it throughout the rest of our lives.

Today I'm getting ready to attend another memorial. My college friend and my best friend died of lung cancer shortly after she lost her husband of 42 years. My mother's obsession with appearance has shaped my clothing. I'd like to appear simple, yet elegant. I choose the bell-sleeved gown with the addition of spandex for an attractive drape. Gray ruffles are applied to the hem and on the sleeves. It was a gift from my dear friend Lucy who died in her 50s due to an aggressive cancer called sarcoma. Her husband gave it to me after her death. Wearing it to the memorial will tie the both past and future. It will help me honor Lucy in an appropriate way to keep her, and all the other girlfriends I have lost, alive. But what I really want is to see people stop dying. Hand me a remote with a freeze button. Put everyone I love on death restriction.

Funerals in black were a tradition that the early Romans started to follow. To mourn the death of a loved ones, they wore dark clothing, or toga pulla, during funerals. Since the Middle Ages, black is considered to be a symbol of reverence. Nachmanides says that Moses told his successors to wear black clothes to express his sorrow after his death. Today, even though religious Jews tend to wear black but it's not mandatory for mourning. This is the tone I prefer for paying my respects.

Black is not considered to be a color. In fact, it's an achromatic color that is not hue (from the Greek akhromatos: a- without and khroma khromat-, color) as because of the lack or complete absorption of visible light. Aren't we all mourning this in funerals?

If only I could go back to the days when the LBD represented not grief or sadness, but rather joy in the form of joyful words, we cried "l'chaim!" Nobody warned me of the dangers that come with having a huge family, loving one and a cache of friends as full as my closet. I've already lost a lot and each day, I'm putting myself at risk for losing many more.

As my mother did, on Yom Kippur I sit alone in a pew, dressed in black. I make a list of names of my lost relatives. Harry. Rose. Leonard. Mildred. I repeat the names of my friends. Danza. Elsie. Laurel. Lucy. The lists grow longer with each passing year. Like I think my mom must have done, I also find satisfaction from singing the traditional Kaddish prayer. Amazing patterns emerge when we stitch back the threads that make up a life. The shroud's white, the Kriah ribbon's dark, and the dazzling colors are weaved into the fabric. They'll never fade.

What number of black dresses can I have to wear before my time comes? Do I want to be the one being remembered? When you take your place in the pews, please wear red. and dance until you're drained.