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My mother's slippers

My mother wore woolen slippers to keep her feet warm. She wore them in fall, in winter, in spring, and also in summer. In fact I can’t really remember a time when they weren’t on her feet.


I remember seeing her feet all the time. While she sat knitting on the bed, her feet would poke out at the bottom end – covered in pink wool. While she was at work in the telephone exchange everyone could see her feet sheathed in baby blue wool. Even in the garden she would have her favorite green wool slippers on her feet. Her ‘gardening outfit’ she’d always say.


“Mom, why are you wearing those woolly slippers again?” I’d ask her.

“I’ve got to protect my feet, my darling,” she’d answer.


“Because I can’t feel them, my love.”

“You mean you only protect the things you can’t feel?”

“No, honey, it’s only my feet I can’t feel.”

“And your ankles?”

“And my legs.”

“Even your knees?”

“Even my thighs.”

“And your tummy?”

“And my tummy.”

“Then how did you know I was in there if you can’t feel your tummy?”

“Well, when you love someone very very much, you can feel them anywhere.”


“Yes. Even if you are at school and I am at work, I can feel you in my heart.”


And that’s how I know where my mom is today. I can feel my mom everywhere I go. I’m still at work living my life down here on Earth, while she’s away at Angel School in the City of Heaven. I can feel her in my heart. Every time I put my slippers on I think of her, I remember her, and I miss her.


My mother’s slippers kept her feet warm, feet she could never feel again after that car accident in 1984. The memory of my mother’s slippers is what keeps me warm now; in fall, in winter, in spring, and even in summer. Love is a different kind of warmth.


My slippers aren’t made out of wool or knitted by my mom, but sometimes I wish they were.