The Pink Boots

A little pair of pink boots sits atop my jewelry box. They are scuffed up and well-worn. Even though they have seen better days, that pair of pink boots with the pen marks on the inside are more valuable to me than all of the gold and diamonds in the world.
Those boots belonged to my little girl, Kasey.
I really miss her.

You see, my little three and a half year old girl died three years ago.

One sunny, October day, I had buckled my three and six year old children into their car seats and went to the store. On the way back, at about seven o'clock, a man who had been drinking way too much had broadsided our little car. Everything from that moment until the next day comes back to me in flashes, unwanted Polaroids that pop into my mind whenever they choose to visit; the cold sound of metal smacking together, my little boy screaming to me announcing Kasey's death, reciting emergency contact information to strangers, the voices of doctors, my sister's hand holding mine.

The days and weeks that passed after that day have blended in together, creating a dark chapter in my life. I couldn't tell you how many looks of pity, hugs, and casseroles I had received, but nobody was able to bring Kasey back.

I found solace in crocheting. It was a mindless, repetitive fumbling of fingers that produced something tangible. I had decided to make baby blankets for every baby born that year to my friends and family members. I made one heck of a lot of blankets.

After that year was over, along with my marriage, I realized that I needed to get back out into the world and unload some of the pain I was wearing like a wool afghan.

If you have ever met me, you know that my greatest gifts are not blankets (although I do make a very beautiful blanket), but my words. Telling our story was like sloughing off a layer of pain. The first time I spoke to a small group of DUI offenders, I felt lighter. The story I had been carrying around had taken on a life of its' own and had reached into the listeners and changed them. While it had definitely helped me, it had helped others.

Weaving yarns into something helpful and warm had given way to weaving my story into a sea change in people who had no idea what power they had when they had chosen to drink and drive. My daughter's life had taken on a new life and has become a powerful testimony.

On my first speaking engagements, the sight of that little pair of boots was so poignant and effective. After a while, I realized that my story was enough, and that I didn't have to share everything. I could share our story, I could give away blankets. However, I could keep those precious boots for myself, to cherish. They are, indeed, worth more that all the gold and diamonds in the world.