They caught me off guard the first time I saw them again. I was looking for something else, about three years ago, and there they were, as if she had slipped them off and thrown them in a corner. They were her sneakers, with a Velcro closing, from when she was about two.
And the sight of them - and the memory of whom they belonged to - stung at my eyes and swelled my throat until it felt tight. Images from when they fit her flooded back, unbidden, and I relived those days in a brief moment in time. It felt like months but in fact, it was only about a minute as I stood there, transfixed, the vivid film in my memory playing like some long-forgotten and perhaps discarded footage. I gathered it all and threaded it back on the reel, each ordinary moment now precious. The puddles she jumped in, while I scolded her for getting her shoes wet. The grass she ran through after her father had just mowed it, spreading grass stains on the toes. The tap-tap-tap of those little shoes beside me as I ran an errand with her while her older sister was in kindergarten. The tug on my hand as she stopped to inspect the rainbow of motor oil in a puddle of water, crouching down right beside it in those little shoes. I would have missed out on that beauty. She noticed it.
She noticed everything. Nothing escaped her attention. She noticed the man sweeping the side of the parking lot, went to him and told him what an important job he was doing keeping the parking lot safe for people, and left him whistling as he continued along the edge of the walkway. She noticed the birds on the wires, the bumblebees backing out of flowers with their legs heavily laden with pollen, the squeaks in bicycle wheels, the chirruping sound of robins seeking mates, and so much more as those shoes carried her to her next discovery.
In that one minute, I remembered, and the memory was painful because she was gone from us, and I missed her so very much!. And part of me wanted to discard those little shoes because I didn't want my heart to hurt like it was hurting. But then I stopped myself - and I left them there, exactly where I had found them, because....
In spite of the hurt, the memory was somehow comforting. I did not want to toss away the fact that she had graced our lives - even for such a short time - with her indomitable zest for life and laughter, with her uncanny ability to see and believe the best about everyone, with her unshakable faith that everything would work out in the end. Those memories - painful as they were - were a reminder of the lessons she taught me about noticing, about being a friend, about being a person.
And today, I came across those shoes again - and this time I picked them up, and put them together neatly, as if laying them out for her to wear again. Even though she had long since outgrown them, trading them in for flip-flops, tight jeans, eyeliner, and a driver's license ... to me, those little shoes were an ineffable symbol of the wonder and optimism she took with her from her childhood into her everyday young adult life, and of the legacy of "today" that she gave to me just by knowing her.
They are a reminder that she is still with us. She still watches, still notices, still cheers us all on and believes the best for us. She is aware of every celebration, every anniversary and birthday, everything that is the stuff of everyday life for us. And she enjoys them with us. I have felt that giggling presence so many times I have lost count.
And so now, when I see her shoes, I smile and say hello.
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| I found this picture on Pixabay.com - free! |
She noticed everything. Nothing escaped her attention. She noticed the man sweeping the side of the parking lot, went to him and told him what an important job he was doing keeping the parking lot safe for people, and left him whistling as he continued along the edge of the walkway. She noticed the birds on the wires, the bumblebees backing out of flowers with their legs heavily laden with pollen, the squeaks in bicycle wheels, the chirruping sound of robins seeking mates, and so much more as those shoes carried her to her next discovery.
In that one minute, I remembered, and the memory was painful because she was gone from us, and I missed her so very much!. And part of me wanted to discard those little shoes because I didn't want my heart to hurt like it was hurting. But then I stopped myself - and I left them there, exactly where I had found them, because....
In spite of the hurt, the memory was somehow comforting. I did not want to toss away the fact that she had graced our lives - even for such a short time - with her indomitable zest for life and laughter, with her uncanny ability to see and believe the best about everyone, with her unshakable faith that everything would work out in the end. Those memories - painful as they were - were a reminder of the lessons she taught me about noticing, about being a friend, about being a person.
And today, I came across those shoes again - and this time I picked them up, and put them together neatly, as if laying them out for her to wear again. Even though she had long since outgrown them, trading them in for flip-flops, tight jeans, eyeliner, and a driver's license ... to me, those little shoes were an ineffable symbol of the wonder and optimism she took with her from her childhood into her everyday young adult life, and of the legacy of "today" that she gave to me just by knowing her.
They are a reminder that she is still with us. She still watches, still notices, still cheers us all on and believes the best for us. She is aware of every celebration, every anniversary and birthday, everything that is the stuff of everyday life for us. And she enjoys them with us. I have felt that giggling presence so many times I have lost count.
And so now, when I see her shoes, I smile and say hello.
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