This post was always going to be entitled "Your mama wears combat boots" because I wear Taylor's clothes - mostly her shoes. I wear the combat boots when I am feeling the most rebellious about going on with this life without our daughter. I mean I am almost fifty and the combat boots fall into the category I am scared of: the "she's trying too hard" category. (insert scary face emoji) I wear her sandals because they are incredibly cute, her oversized shirts because she has so much more style than I do, her jewelry, her hair ties.. Clearly, I am not ready to let go. (She would insert - "sorry, not sorry" here.)
Everyday, I have something of hers with me; sometimes its obtuse; sometimes it's more subtle.
One pair of sandals are on their last days, and I wear them sparingly - as if I could make them last forever. I felt my lungs shrink against the pressure - what will I do without Taylor's things when they all break, when they all wear out?
Then a series of verses walked across my heart. Verses that call us to be poured out completely, They match a philosophy Taylor's daddy taught her. Being an gruff ball coach his words are not nearly as holy or tender as scripture - but they mean the same thing - Give everything you have. One speed. (If you want the Witcher translation, we will have to speak in person.)
All we can do is use what we have left - all of it.
Pour ourselves out.
It will hurt; the reality of the emptiness amplified on some days. Other days the tears will reduce me/us and the pouring will pause, but its the only way we can go on.
It's not our first choice,
But have you ever worn a pair of jeans long enough so the denim has thinned and softened, feeling more like an old champion soft tee rather than a sturdy pair of Levi's? You become frighteningly aware of the thin material in the seat of jeans or across the knees and you know that years of wearing your favorite pair will eventually result in a classic rip - one you paid for with living - not with cash. Suddenly, your favorite Levi's become classic, retro, legit, even bohemian and you are satisfied even proud of the rips and tears.
Your mama wears combat boots baby girl.
And Levi's - 501's to be exact.
And she's not sorry.