“Scuff your shoes when you go out.”
You have been gone 6 years, 10 months and 0 days and although I still find it incredibly difficult to think about you for more than a few minutes, you are with me in everything I do. As soon as my new shoes hit the first cement step off our wooden porch, your voice instructed me as it has since my shiny white Mary Jane’s were buckled for my debut as a flower girl in a neighbor’s wedding. You didn’t want me to slip and hurt myself on the pristine soles and you reminded me of this practice with each new pair until I moved into my own place at 23. Nike, we bought a lot of shoes together over the years during our shopping trips!
Though you are gone from my sight and my touch, all that you taught me remains. I know how to lessen my chance of falling, but more importantly, because of you, I know how to pick myself up when I do.
Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you and miss you with every step I take.