Just got ready to leave the Memorial Shoe Display at the base of the Washington Monument, a lady walked up to me.
“I took a picture of you and want to share with you.”
She sent it to my phone. We chatted and hugged. I looked at the picture and cried:
What a numb and empty soul sitting with 1,800 empty shoes. Even words fail to understand the emptiness inside – a void hard to be filled.
1,800 pairs of shoes.
1,800 lost dreams.
1,800 childhoods too soon to end.
How can life be so fragile? 1,800 children once running in those colorful shoes, are gone, every year, because of cancer. Some of them die with huge tumor burden inside the bodies. Yet, some of them die with no trace of cancer inside the bodies. They die in the arms of their parents. They die right in front of the eyes of their parents. They die with hands slowly off their parents.
Anger, sadness, fear, depression and shame, fill my empty soul.
With years going by, I start to believe that there isn’t anything I can do to fix the emptiness: the holes in life are permanent. As my arms remained empty and my heart grew heavier with grief and doubt.
These past four days, I met so many other mothers, just like me. We may not remember every name, but we connected in the way words can’t describe.
To the mother who will never see the bright eyes of the child again, who will never feel the warmth of the child, who will never feel the tight grip of her baby’s hand clutching her fingers, who will never feel the breath of the child, you will reunite with your child one day.
To the mother who wants to run out of the hospital room screaming why me, who is angry that you can’t do it anymore, take a deep breath.
To the mother who is saying to herself, “If only…” It is not your fault.
To the mother who is asking how she could ever be happy again, your child wanted you to be happy.
To the mother who clings to and cries on that child’s photos, who breathes in the lingering but fading scent of the child, take comfort in the memories.
To the mother who feels numb, lost, alone, confused, who finds herself being strong only for the surviving family, the emptiness will wear off someday.
To the mother with empty arms and empty shoes, you have to believe it will get better.
I have to believe, no matter how hard it is.
The image of 1,800 pairs of shoes weighs heavily on my heart. Without knowing it, I may carry it with me anywhere. Somedays it will hurt me so bad, but it would give me strength. 1,800 pairs of shoes have permanently lost their voices. But they cannot be silent. I refuse to let them silent.
We have to give them voices. 1,800 lives, can’t be lost in vain.
Kathy
9/22/2024 at Washington Monument