A Light for My Path

I’ve always had a thing for shoes. I get it from my mother. She always wore fashionable shoes. She had very narrow feet, so it was hard for her to find shoes that fit. There was a shoe store in a town about an hour away that she knew carried hard-to-find sizes. She checked the newspaper frequently for their sales and then she would splurge on two or three pairs. Daddy never fussed about the expense because she looked so elegant in her heels and she walked like a model in them.

I inherited her narrow feet and her passion for shoes. Unfortunately, I didn’t inherit her poise and elegance. Still, I’ve always had racks of stilettos, kitten heels, wedges, flats, and all kinds of boots.

My daughters also inherited the “shoe gene.” My older daughter’s feet are small. But, by the time her sister, Rachel, was a teen she wore my size. And often, my shoes. She’d come out of her bedroom dressed to go to the mall with friends or for a date or just for school and what was on her feet looked very familiar. I’d sometimes start to pack for a business trip and my favorite black dress shoes would be missing. “Oh, I’m sorry Mommy; I forgot and put them in my closet.”

That ploy led to promising if I bought her a pair she loved that she would let me wear them. And, even when she was buying her own shoes, she could easily coax me into adding to my own collection. “You should get both pairs of boots. They look so cute on you.” Yes, I’m a pushover.

For her wedding, Rachel picked out a dress that cost much less than I had budgeted for so she could have the expensive red-soled Italian heels she wanted. When she died two months after her marriage, those shoes and her wedding picture were sitting on a table at the memorial service.

It was a while before I could even go into a shoe store. That’s silly, I know. But, the association with Rachel and the fun we had bargaining over how many chores she’d have to do to earn new shoes was more than I could take.

She’s been in Heaven seven and a half years now. I can go in a shoe store without shedding tears. I still love footwear; although, my choices now are typically sandals, sneakers, or cute flats. I donated most of my nice business shoes and suits to Dress for Success when I retired.

I was not very good at walking in my mother’s elegant high heels. My older daughter has her own closet full of shoes that are too small for me. Rachel walked in my shoes for a few years, but established her own style and preferences.

But, if you ever have the chance to walk in someone else’s shoes, you might realize it’s not as easy as it looks. That person may have practiced in front of a mirror for a long time to look poised and steady. She might have learned to hide the pain of a blister or bunion. Perhaps she carefully polishes scuffs and super glues the soles because she can’t afford a new pair.

Or, maybe the pain is emotional. Maybe she’s trying to outrun bad memories or hard feelings.

Or, maybe she’s just missing a long-legged, sweetly persuasive girl who used to walk in hers.

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Laura