When My Shoes Are Empty

When my shoes are empty, you will know the life I have lived. Before you box up my shoes, take a look.

The conservative navy pumps worn to work on days when I wanted to project my most professional image, when I wanted to be taken seriously, when I wanted to say 'I do a damn fine job and I want you to recognize it'. When I was in high school I aspired to excel as a business-woman. I never did move up on the corporate ladder, but my position is one of responsibility and skill, and I am proud of the work I do .. I do it well.

The burgundy Clark's worn when I need comfort and support for days spent running up and down the aisles of a grocery store helping my mother with shopping, or running errands, or indulging in a 'shop til you drop' excursion for a new purse.

The simple white leather sandals that keep the hot-natured, menopausal, mature woman cool while looking classic and attractive with polished toes and a delicate ankle bracelet.

The white canvas Keds and their numerous predecessors, worn with comfy white socks and jeans, that walked on fall days with my small son, that drove to and picked up at school, that ran away to the playground when I should have been ironing.

The black 'Betty Page' heels worn with black backseam stockings to the symphony, or to dinner with friends. They hurt my feet, but looked so beautiful with a slinky black dress. They made me feel feminine and pretty. And that is, after all, more important than comfort isn't it ?

The red patent-leather pointy-toed high heels. They never hurt my feet that much because I rarely took more than ten steps in them. Worn with delicate lingerie, they said 'I'm a sensual woman and I want to please you'. Dust them, they haven't been worn in a very long time.

The sensible black leather ankle boots purchased to wear in New England snows while I spent the most joyous times of my life with my son. Trudging through slush to buy chocolate and ham, or slipping and giggling across a parking lot to enjoy a movie together, or wet feet stomping back up the stairs and boots tugged off to relax and cherish our last moments before my flight back home.

When my shoes are empty, you will know the life I have lived. Before you box up my shoes, take a look. See that they are well-worn from a life well-lived.