Drew's Shoes

Last week, as the weather is FINALLY starting to turn warm, I went through Molly's clothes. It's something many moms are doing this time of year--going through drawers and closets. Sorting out the too small stuff, and bringing out the next season's wares. I gathered all the out-grown Molly clothes that are taking over the house and got them ready to pass on at a local Mom's group. On a last sweep, I found a bin of shoes that I carried to the van.

As I got there and put out the clothes and shoes, I realized it had boy shoes in there too--Drew's shoes. As I dug through them, my heart knew instantly which pairs I just couldn't part with. One pair in particular brought back a vivid memory of the day we bought them....

It was sometime during the six chemo cycles. We had appointments in Rochester in the morning, and then one after lunch. Drew and I were by ourselves, Molly was at preschool and then walked across the hall to the drop-in daycare, Josh was at work. My boy and I had a couple hours to kill, and I decided to take him for lunch.

Which was kind of special since we normally didn't go out to eat very often (and still don't, really). By myself I hadn't taken kids to anywhere but McDonald's alone. But Drew and I found ourselves in Rochester at lunchtime occasionally, and so we'd started to go out to eat together.

And I guess I'd say "we" went to eat lunch together, but since Drew had a feeding tube, he didn't eat much of anything. Yet, he was pretty good at a restaurant for a two year old boy who wasn't even eating. We'd go to Chipotle, Subway, and Noodles and Company, one of my favorites.

And on this day, I decided to take him to Five Guys. He was a little whiny, but a day of appointments will do that to anyone I figured. As we sat down, I was excited to be reminded what the fuss over this place was about. I'd only been to a Five Guys one other time. As I started to eat my burger, Drew started the whimper. It must have been deep enough into the chemo cycles to recognize the I'm-going-to-be-sick look, but apparently not deep enough to realize I needed to be prepared at all times for sick. Scrambling, I put my lunch sack over his mouth to receive. And receive it did. I forgot my fries were still in the bottom of the bag 😔

I remember being embarrassed. I bet these people wonder what I'm doing taking him out anyways--clearly a cancer patient, and now he just got sick in a restaurant. I got him calmed down and cleaned up as best I could with napkins, trying not to cry myself. I asked for a rag from the man behind counter.

No one offered to help. But when I looked around I didn't see annoyed or grossed out faces either, only pity (which I've found can be just as upsetting). I collected our stuff, and headed for the van with him. I realized once I got there though that I had no change of clothes for him. Come on Heidi!

Luckily, we were across the parking lot from a Target. Saved by Target! I took him in, puke starting to absorb into his clothes. Drew and I cruised the little boy aisle, and found him a new outfit. I know exactly what I bought that day--the stretchy denim pants, the soft light blue hoodie and dark blue heather V neck t-shirt, and then a pair of shoes. Because he had gotten his shoes messy too.

I took him into the bathroom to change him, and I remember that I smashed his little fingers on the door as we came out. His fingers were griping the edges of the cart and the shutting door pinched them as it shut on the cart. I remember looking into his tear-filled eyes and feeling so bad I hurt him, wondering if this lunch date could get any worse.

But I also remember realizing I really wasn't as upset as I would have been just 6 months earlier. And on the way home after the final appointment, I had a sense of accomplishment, of pride in myself, as I thought about the day.

Yes, Drew puked on my fries at Five Guys, and I had no back up clothes. But luckily, we were right by a Target and bought him some new ones. We weren't late for our last appointment of the day, and we got back to pick up Molly before Josh got off of work. The day had turned out okay. I had handled it. This caring-for-a-child-with-cancer-thing I was getting the hang of, and not freaking out!  I recall thinking to myself...

It was a lunch date and day I'll never forget with my Drew. And these little shoes hold that whole story. They got worn a lot after that day, and got puked on themselves too. I can see splatter and even dried up evidence on sides of the sole.

But they took him lots of places.  Went with him on many adventures.  Lucky shoes!

There were other shoes too, ones I have to keep. Ones that were a part of our story and also hold many memories. Like these ones that he wore home from the hospital, that first time after he got diagnosed. They were his friend Andrew's shoes, as many of his clothes were. Hand-me-downs, that will now be kept for a long time to come.

After reliving that memory so crisp from those shoes last week, I felt the urge to go through his clothes again too, to bring more memories to life.  Last year when I put this stuff away, I could feel the numb-ness.  I put his clothes in bins, along with the shoes, his blankets and his little feeding pump backpack. I knew how much they meant but I just wasn't ready to deal with it, I couldn't look at them.  And I have only opened the bin again a handful of times. 

I still have his clothes hanging up in the closet.  One of the only things I haven't done anything with, that are hanging there just like they did when a little boy lived in that room.  Some still with tags on them, never gotten to, never worn.

What is it about clothes, and shoes? Why do they trigger such emotion? Many moms I know feel a little sadness as they put out grown clothes away. I know I still do when Molly out grows her (or my) favorites. I think we reminisce about all the summer days that favorite sundress was a part of as we tuck it away. Maybe even some tears fall as we realized that a chapter has closed. They'll never be a 2T little girl again, we can never go back...

Going through his old shoes, his old clothes, brings up the same feelings as my peers feel. Except that when I go through his clothes now, it's not because Drew outgrew them, but in some cases that he never grew into some of them! It's a similar feeling, but much, much deeper and a more profound pain.

Why am I doing this?, my head asked as I picked up the first few shirts in his bin. I knew it'd hurt. But, I guess I hurt anyways, I reason. Turning up the hurt to feel close to him, to get to those memories again, seemed worth it today. And, somehow I feel like it's time to go through this stuff. But that doesn't mean it isn't hard.

It's all I have left, I realize as I see some of these pants and shirts that used to be in my wash every week. All the physical evidence that the boy in all these pictures really was here. It lets me visualize his form again, recall the memories that unfortunately are fading, like that day we bought the shoes. I smelled each of these pieces when I went through them, still searching for his smell. I got the picture of him in them and put it side by side it, somehow hoping that the picture, the shirt, my DREW will come back to life.

It's like they are a part of him.  The red "I dig being 2" shirt was a birthday gift--on his last one.  And he wore that shirt A LOT.  The orange and gray monster truck shirt he wore while he sang Jingle Bells in a video I still watch just to hear his voice.  And the bright orange shirt with the palm trees and guitars, his "gee-tar shirt" as we called it (top left), was a part of so many memories, one of my favorites.  So familiar to us, and I'd be willing to guess to others too who saw him in it regularly or in pictures. 

And the first shirt he ever asked for--"googley eyes shirt".  He'd get all sad when he'd get sick on it, and it'd have to be washed. Which, unfortunately happened a lot.

And the jammies.  Oh, the jammies... Just thinking about them makes me tear up.  Who doesn't love fresh-from-the-tub, baby-lotion-smelling little ones?  And Drew was a snuggler...I just ache to hold that little love bug in these pjs again....

I had offers from people to take his clothes and turn them into things--teddy bears or quilts. And maybe someday I'll be okay with that. But I still can't stand to have them altered. I want to hold them up, hug them, smell them just as they were when my baby boy was IN them.

I guess this is another phase. I couldn't face the clothes and the shoes a year ago. And even now, could only take a short time of going through the first bin. But those shoes started something. I was able to pass by a few pairs that weren't all that special to me. There were ones that I could let go of. Maybe the clothes will be the same way. I'll have some pieces I will always hold dear, but will be able to send the rest on. To another little boy to wear and have fun in, get dirty, and make memories.

But until then, I'll slowly go through them on my own time. I know that when Summer arrives and Molly's home, I have less (read--almost no) time to myself. So I'll take these afternoons where I can just sit and hold his jammies and cry for the boy that used to fill them.

When I have days like this, I feel like I'm going backwards. That I don't have any of this figured out, and wonder why I think I do sometimes. Doubt creeps in. Despair tries to convince me it'll never get better, I'll hurt like this forever. I start to fear that I'm forgetting him, as it's getting harder to bring up the memories. I am tempted to feel defeated...

But my head reminds me, the Spirit leads me in Truth, that sad days don't cancel out good ones. That missing him doesn't mean I'm not faithful or choosing joy in my life. I can cry while I hold his jammies, but then put them back in the bin. Put a lid on it (literally and figuratively), wash my face, and walk to the corner to wait for my other precious child to get off the bus. And if I can enjoy her, be present with her, and love her like I haven't lost, then I haven't lost after all. You beat cancer by how you live and how you love, I remind myself again.

I've read that grief is a spiral. That sometimes you feel like you're going backwards--and to one reference point, you may be. But if you are moving forward, then you are always making progress in the spiral. We have come a long way. I don't have these kinds of days as often as I did a year ago. I was able to pick myself up and get on with my day. I don't have to listen to the lies, self doubt, and fear. God has given me the strength, has shown me the Truth, and it really has set me free.  I can have these feelings, but I'm not enslaved by them.

I'll keep moving forward then, on my spiral. Keep taking each day at a time, row by row, clothes bin by clothes bin. It helps me to remember all that Drew went through, and how he kept going. He kept smiling, kept loving. If he can do hard things at the tender age of two, I can do hard things at 32!