Then again, maybe it's time to venture forth in a new direction, striding along toward adventure in my own shoes, not someone else's. I'd like to think that Mother Pat would have given me the sandals if she had known I would have enjoyed them so much. Then again, perhaps she would have bought me my very own pair, so she and I would have something more in common besides her son and a love of travel and dancing.
I don't recall ever seeing her wear the sandals.
Not once.
But as soon as I saw them, I knew they would be mine.
For more than six years, I have delighted in wearing them. As soon as the weather allowed, the sandals bedecked with tiny seashells were on my feet! I wore them everywhere and almost all the time, except at school for lab days. I wore them to overly chilled cinemas and hot sandy beaches. I wore them on days that turned cool and wished I had them on days that became hot too quickly.
Walking, driving, dancing, there they were, on my feet.
Sometimes my toenails would be painted a silver rose red, attempting to blend in with the wild lantana planted all over the yard by the mockingbirds. Sometimes, just a clear, shiny gloss distinguished my toes from the aging leather of the sandals.
Now, the time has come to step out in new shoes, forging new paths, dancing new steps.
Loss adjustment is always hard, especially when the loss of a loved one is involved. I choose to believe that I'm getting better with that adjustment. I may have lapses from time to time, but, after more than a decade, those moments of insanity are lessening in intensity and in frequency.
It has certainly taken a long time to be able to say that.
Now, to get my own sandals!
1 comment:
I gave the one shoe to my dear friend Jin Hi, whose left leg was taken by bone cancer when she was fifteen.
She was thrilled to receive the sandal!
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