Those Red Shoes

The year was 1993 and I had lusted for a pair of red suede sandals. Although it was early January, and I wouldn’t be wearing them until the spring, I needed those shoes, had to have them. I drove to the mall in snow and bought them with the holiday money I had received. All the way home, still in the snow, I was dreaming about the ways those red shoes would complete or even make many outfits, the ways they would enhance my wardrobe, and the ways they would make me smile every time I saw them in the box waiting to be worn in a few months. I felt a passion for them that did not seem to be equal to their value, but I felt it nonetheless. And then, just a few weeks later, I came to understand how the hand of fate had twisted and placed those red suede sandals in my own hand, and in my psyche, but the opportunity to actually ever wear them was certainly in question.

The week after acquiring those red shoes, I suffered a major attack on my body that required surgeries and weeks in the hospital. Teetering on the edge of death, I realized there was a strong possibility that I would be leaving my loving family, and not have an opportunity to watch my darling daughters become women. Laying in the hospital bed hooked up to countless tubes, I thought over and over again about all I may never see, hear or touch. The snow fell heavily that winter that I was so very sick, and it made me anxious to know that my loving husband, Bruce was traveling on slippery roads sometimes three times a day to see me.

When I finally returned to my home after battling harder than I had ever imagined myself capable of doing, I embraced all that was part of my everyday life. I watched the same early morning programs, walked appreciatively around the driveway, shared conversations with my girls and family and friends, and, yes, looked at my cherished red shoes. They had so much meaning, and I am still unsure I can convey the reason. Perhaps it was because fashion is such a passion of mine; perhaps it was because the color red always signifies strength and being battle ready; perhaps it is because the shoes were feminine and pretty, and I felt neither of those in my debilitated state; or perhaps it was a sign that I was looking ahead to as normal a life as I had before the virulent attack. Unfortunately, there were so many to follow, but at that time, it was all about where I would go, what I would do, and how beautiful my shoes would make me feel. They actually felt like a protection of armor, and for that, I was so grateful!

Over the years, I have wondered if there is a shallowness to the adoration I had for those red shoes. Never having thought of myself as shallow, it was an upsetting title to consider. But as I look back on all that has transpired over the 23 years and 23 abdominal surgeries that occurred, I realize that sometimes it is simply easier to imagine losing a pair of shoes, than all that I stood on the precipice of losing.