Shoes… The story of our life is told by our shoes. My dad died when I was just 19.  My mom, shortly after, removed his things from their closet.  I stared at his shoes. Got a lump in my throat.  And squelched my tears.  Those were his slippers.  Those were the shoes he wore to work at the “sugar refinery”.  And those were the shoes he wore to work in the yard, something that he loved.  Yes… the story of our life is told by our shoes.