As a child, for fun, and before I had any real understanding of the value of a dollar, I would clean out my mother’s weighty bag and keep the change as a reward.
On my last visit home we replayed this tradition but traded pennies and lint for pumps, and tales of styles past. Among rummaging and reminiscing, I spotted these boots that went on for days. ‘Those were my favourite’ she announced excitedly, referring to the higher than thigh italian boot, instantly making them infinitely better.
My most precious belongings are infused with her goodness. I would wear her if I could. . . as in an eternal hug not a coat made of skin
