THE BOOTS

I cried about the boots last night. I was back in this city for a couple hours when the memory came for me—like it hunted me to haunt me. I know the high of my distractions must come with the suffocating undertow of grief. This time it was the boots.

The memory finds Nick well enough to walk, only less hair under his baseball hat to show any sign of cancer’s grip. We walk into Citizen Clothing on Lower Johnson Street because he wants to show me the boots. “Here they are,” he smiles as he holds the smooth brown leather in his hands. “I love them,” I reply. “Try them on.”

I sense him hesitate. Nick does not have a problem spending money. I’m the sibling who lectures about budgets. His reaction confuses me, so I push, “Just try them on.” And eventually he wiggles his feet into the boots. “I love them,” I confirm again as he returns from a stroll down the aisle.

He’s silent as he takes them off. “Nick, what’s wrong? You have the money. Buy them.” His deep voice softens as he explains, “I know, Linds. I just don’t want to buy anything until I know I’m not going into the hospital again.”

Because I don’t know what to say, because I love him and want so much more for him, I panic beg. “Please don’t think like that. If you want them, buy them. Please don’t live like this.” He says he’ll think about it, and we leave the store.

We’re only a couple steps down the sidewalk when he turns to go back for the boots. I still remember that look on his face, with the shopping bag in his hand, and the energy in him. “You’re right, Linds,” he says. “I can’t keep thinking about the next hospital stay.”

And less than 24 hours later, his text to me reads: “Good thing I tried those boots on when I did. My ankles swelled up yesterday afternoon & since then I haven’t been able to fit them on my feet! Hahaha”

He would never wear the boots again. The swelling would never go down. His body would never recover. He died three months later in the hospital surrounded by our family and his friends.

As for the boots, they sit high on a shelf in our parents’ home above his ashes as a stunning reminder that even in the darkest days of this life, there is choice. Even if it is fleeting, even if it’s small, even if pain is coming, keep choosing happiness. I’m begging.