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My friend Linda, wrote a poignant post in her blog recently about shoes. She mentioned that she had saved a pair of her son’s shoes. (Her 20, (almost 21) year old son, was found floating in a river, not quite a year ago.) It’s still a mystery…

It got me thinking about shoes. I talked about shoes at my step-dad’s funeral. When I met him at the age of 7, he was the biggest man (6’4″) that I had ever seen, and he wore a size 13 shoe. That fact never left my mind. (No one else will ever be able to fill his shoes.)

Shoes are a very personal part of a person’s wardrobe. They are worn daily or very often, unlike most apparel. Somehow they develop a character of their own, that is a reflection of the person that wears them.

Whether they are boots, loafers, sneakers, or high heels, they have their own style and personality, that speaks volumes about their owner. I think about Kellie Pickler and her “Red High Heels”, and Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Are Made For Walking”, and Elvis’ “Blue Suede Shoes.”

Soldiers are certainly known by their boots. I think of all the pictures I’ve seen lately where the deceased soldier’s boots were placed with his rifle and helmet, as a memorial. It always gets to me.

Shoes can be playful, comfortable, sexy, classy, rugged, sedate, ugly, pretty, and comical. Every woman knows how much fun they can be.

But there is not much sadder, than the shoes of a loved one no longer here. Their shoes represented life, and the roads they traveled, and the things they did. (And were going to do.) And looking at their shoes, knowing they will never again walk in them, is a lonely, gut-wrenching experience. But letting them go hurts more…

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