Walking in Mama's Shoes

I took the dogs out to the Neuse River Greenway, one of our favorite walking trails. It's new and in the far reaches of Raleigh, so it isn't heavily trafficked. On this particular morning, I donned my mother's Adidas.

When Mom came to live with us nearly two years ago, one of the first things we did was go shoe shopping. She had foot problems, brought on in part by her insistance that her shoe size was 5, as it had been since she was 20. Small feet rise nearly to the level of fetish in her shoe-loving family.

Shoe shopping with a person who suffers from dementia can be a trying experience. After what seemed like hundreds of try-ons, she plucked a walking shoe from the display and determined that THIS WAS IT! Adidas. White with pink trim. Pink shoelaces. Size 7.

Adidas it was, and she wore those shoes nearly every day. I gradually spirited away almost all of the other shoes from her closet, especially anything with heels or little straps. At that point, she was still conscious of her appearance, still spun and preened in front of her full length mirror every day, but those shoes accompanied nearly every outfit. I think it was the first time her feet weren't squooshed, and she felt secure about walking.

When she became wheelchair bound, a few months ago, the people at her memory care unit tucked those shoes into the corner of the closet. She only wears slip-on deck shoes now. She doesn't miss them. She's not aware of her appearance. I'm not sure she distinguishes between herself and the environment around her anymore. I decided to appropriate those very wearable shoes for myself a couple of weeks ago.

The first thing I noticed was a funky smell. It filled my car, it filled the closet. It took me a day to figure out it was the shoes, and not something to do with the dogs I carry around in my car so much. Another aspect of Alzheimer's, that was well underway before she left our home, is urinary incontinence. Apparently, these shoes had suffered the consequences at some point.

I threw away the laces, tossed the shoes in the washing machine, and set them in the sunshine to dry ---- for a week! New laces (not pink) and I have a fine pair of walking shoes for my treks into the wilderness with Buddy and Nanalu.

It's odd to wear my Mama's shoes. It's not the first time I've gotten clothing from her. I started out snitching things from her closet while I was still in high school. It's not even the first pair of shoes. But pairing these shoes ---- her last real shoes ---- with the time I spend discovering the natural world around me, is unsettling. At first, it made me sad. As we walk along, I often talk to the dogs, pointing out things that I see or hear or smell. This time, it was as though Mama were walking along beside me. She loved to go for walks. She walked every day, answering bird calls, stopping to watch squirrels, greeting neighbors, noting flowers and trees and the changing seasons.

When I wear Mama's shoes, the world is new again for both of us, and life is wondrous once more.