Directions

Desert Toad with an unsure expression

I want to ask the universe-

does my longing

call to you like the muffled

cry on a string

pulled tight to a paper cup?-Katie Rizzo

I hold on too tight. 

When Nicholas was a few months old, my Aunt Sandy took me to a bougie outdoor mall in Palm Springs.  I’m sure I went into that outing with a stroller, a baby carrier, car seat and a bag full of a million unnecessary things, such as formula and a bottle (Nicholas had refused a bottle). Sandy picked out a few adorable outfits along with shoes. Not just any shoes, these were wool, in a deep blue with a bright red elephant trunk on the front and eyes. 

Elephant shoes. Fifty dollar booties for a three month old. I loved them, not only because I couldn’t have afforded them, but because the elephant had a look like he was unsure if he was happy or sad, a face Nicholas perfected. 

The first time he wore those booties we walked around Washington Park in Denver. Usually I’d strap Nicholas in faceing me and then I could tuck my chin down and feel his wispy hair on my lips. As I remember the park is mostly bike and running trails, around two different lakes. Denver’s winters were usually mild, and I probably didn’t need a jacket in early March weather. When we’d finished and I was putting him into the car I realized that only one of his feet was shoeless. 

I put him back in the carrier and we retraced our steps. How hard could it be to find a blue and red shoe?

We came up empty handed. I went home with a lesson about getting attached to things. Or at least I thought I’d learned it. 

I kept the spare shoe. 

Which is uncharacteristic of me, ask my husband. I could live in a tiny house, without clutter, I’d have a bed a few articles of clothes and one newborn wool  elephant shoe. 

For awhile I thought I kept it for the other two kids, since if they got a cute pair of shoes and lost one I could say, ‘Aha! Here it is - a mismatched mate.’  But somehow they kept their newborn shoes on, or maybe they only wore socks. It’s all a blurr. 
The elephant shoe rests on a shelf in my closet and I look at it often.

It’s been twenty-seven years and the shoe is here. How is it possible that Nicholas isn’t? 

I had the honor to talk with Trauma Recovery Anonymous and learned a little more about fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/kate-rizzo-using-writing-to-deal-with-grief-and-loss/id1866136356?i=1000767549713

Letting go, sometimes it isn’t possible. I got the opportunity to talk with A Contagious Smile Podcast about addiction, loss and blame. The link is as follows. https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/a-mother-remembers-her-son-and-rebuilds-life/id1617838625?i=1000763745481

PS - I lost the shoe. When I realized I needed a photo of it for this blog I set the shoe on the landing to bring downstairs. That is the last time I saw it. One of my dogs could have taken it, but they are old enough they don’t pay attention to shoes. In this liminal space I now inhabit, I’m not counting out all explanations for where it has gone.