A Pair of Shoes

About a week after we received the results regarding Michael, I kept thinking over and over - that I do not like my shoes ~ metaphorically speaking. Today as I read this poem it made me smile. I feel like I have come a long way, but still sometimes when I look in the mirror, I can not help but think, did that really happen? Is he really gone? I will forever be a mother whose baby died, I lost my only son and some days I just do not like my shoes.

I was shopping with Abbi the other day and I was returning an outfit and I mentioned to the clerk that I was having a really hard time finding clothes that fit right now because I just had a baby recently - really not thinking, or perhaps being comfortable in my shoes for a moment. Then, I realized what door I had opened. The clerk politely asked me if I had a boy or a girl... I told her a boy and she then congratulated me. I am pretty certain I looked like a deer in the headlights. I said thank you and quickly changed subjects. She probably thought I was crazy or extremely hormonal, little does she know I spared her from what was really inside my head. Abbi did not miss any of this and as soon as we got in the car, she quickly pointed out the clerk obviously thought Michael was still alive. I smiled, stroked her hair and said yes she did, BUT, I did not cry. Maybe, I am learning to wear my shoes. I still miss him and I still cry sometimes, some days more than others. I struggle daily with trying to be strong and keeping a healthy balance of honoring Michael's life.


A Pair of Shoes

I am wearing a pair of shoes.

They are ugly shoes, uncomfortable shoes.
I hate my shoes.


Each day I wear them, and each day I wish I had another pair.
Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I do not think I can take another step.
Yet, I continue to wear them.


I get funny looks wearing these shoes, they are looks of sympathy.
I can tell in others eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs.
They never talk about my shoes.


To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.
To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.
But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.


I now realize that I am not the only one who wears these shoes.
There are many pairs in this world.
Some women are like me and ache daily as they try and walk in them.
Some have learned how to walk in them so they don't hurt quite as much.
Some have worn the shoes so long that days will go by before they think about how much they hurt.


No woman deserves to wear these shoes.
Yet, because of these shoes I am a stronger woman.
These shoes have given me the strength to face anything.
They have made me who I am.


I will forever walk in the shoes of a woman who has lost a child.

Author unknown