These shoes walked an exhausted 8.5 year old boy to the car from his upstairs bedroom after we had declared it bed time. These shoes were picked out for this special task because I was just barely able to walk after spraining my ankle several weeks prior to this night and they had good support. I had hoped that these shoes would support my ankle during what I knew was going to be a long weekend and possibly longer week.
These Shoes (One Year Ago)
These shoes walked that boy into a 24hr urgent care just after 9pm. These shoes helped him to the trash can after the doctor palpated his stomach. These shoes weren't quite fast enough to get him there. These shoes took the brunt of partially digested blueberries that were swallowed 2 or more hours prior. These shoes are stained.
These shoes remained on my feet while we left the urgent care and drove to the ER. These shoes would later be tossed into a plastic bag with his dirty clothes as we were transferred from that ER to the pediatric intensive care unit upstairs.
These shoes, though clean now, hold some strong memories of a time not to long ago when our lives flipped upside down. I will not get rid of them for a very long time, if ever. They are a scar to me. A scar attached to a scary occurrence where a pancreas stopped working. A scar, that resembles the fact that we were there that night and reminds me of how far we've come.
It's odd that I'm so sentimental over a pair of stained shoes, but that night will never be forgotten. If we cannot remember where we've been, we cannot judge how far we've come.
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