Walking in a Man’s Shoes

–       Don’t get carried away, Katie. I won’t be around long enough.

Dad needs shoes.

His ten year old, Zeller’s Velcro runners and old black boots with cat claw marks and paper clip zippers are too difficult for him to put on.

With over an hour wait ahead of us for a prescription renewal at the Walk In Clinic, I take Dad shoe shopping in Sidney.

The man measures his feet. Dad’s a size ten wide.

–       Will these look good in my casket?

Asks Dad as he tries on Rockport slip-ons.

–       At our age, we don’t buy for looks.

He says to another old customer.

Declaring comfort, Dad walks out in new, easy on shoes.

We head to a bookstore to waste more time. I point at the chair near the open door. Dad sits and listens to the middle-aged busker on the corner playing songs from Dad’s time.

Dad hands him a fiver as we head back to the clinic.

–       I need balance in a shoe.

Dad says as we walk down Beacon Drive.

–       If I go upstairs, I’ll need dress shoes.

He says,

–        But if I go downstairs, I’ll need runners.

I laugh and we return to the waiting room.

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About Morbid Optimist

My name is Katryna Mary Brooke Ormiston. I am 35 years old and after living in Vancouver for a decade, I am returning home to my 81 year old father’s hobby farm on Vancouver Island to care for him in the final stages of his life. This blog is to document my journey, process my experiences along the way and hopefully share and feel connected to a community beyond the three and a half acres I find myself on. A message in a bottle in the cyber-sea.
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7 Responses to Walking in a Man’s Shoes

  1. terry1954 says:

    that was very touching

  2. lauriejlong says:

    I love your wit and sassiness. I hope things are going well.

  3. Jessie says:

    As always, a good chuckle. thanks!

  4. Gordo says:

    I keep both pairs handy. Good plan.

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