Walking a Mile in His Shoes (Brief Chr)

by Charity

Our brother wanted to get rid of our father's shoes.

For years, there have been several old pairs piled up in a corner of one room in the house.  Our father had had issues with his feet during his later years, and he had stuck to wearing only one pair, a pair of heavy-duty black athletic shoes that weighed a total of three pounds.  We knew this because he always insisted on deducting the weight of his shoes when he was weighed at the doctor's office.

Allegra's first thought on hearing our brother's idea was to agree with it.  After all, we'd have to get rid of things anyway, and we might as well start.  It was okay with us until he mentioned getting rid of the black shoes as well.

We started to feel discomfort within.  We want to remember the later years more than the early ones, and this last pair of shoes was and is a significant symbol to us.

One of our littles, who also had difficulty accepting our mother's death 14 years ago, said that if we got rid of that last pair, "he won't have any shoes in Heaven."

Us:  He won't need shoes in Heaven.
Little:  Of course he will.  What if his feet get cold?

It's hard to reason with a six-year-old sometimes.  Especially when it's so easy to empathize with how she feels.  So I just sat next to her and held her.

Shortly thereafter, we called our brother and told him that he could get rid of all the other shoes except that pair.  We asked him to keep that pair behind our father's favorite chair for the time being.  Eventually we'll be ready to get rid of them.  But not now.  Not yet.