She was in the last stages of her young life. Twenty-eight and losing her battle with a brain tumor, my sister seemed to be a people-magnet wherever she went. Although she would become much weaker and soon lose her ability to talk, walk and do anything on her own, Angel had not yet reached that stage. As our dad walked with her into the University of Utah Medical Center, my sister beamed and struck up a conversation with anyone who made eye contact with her.
Signing in for her daily radiation treatment, she spotted a woman nearby who was wearing something Angel had coveted and had searched for for months: red shoes. They were sneakers in my sister’s favorite color, and she grinned at the woman and complimented her on her shoes.
“I love your shoes,” she told her. “I’ve always wanted red sneakers.” I don’t know what it was in her voice, or maybe it was her obviously scarred, bruised and bald head—the tell-tale signs of cancer combat and not a winning fight. Or maybe it was her frail, vulnerable body; her right side was paralyzed from the brain tumor, her arm hung limp at her side and her leg dragged as she struggled every moment just to keep upright and keep walking.
Dad stood with his arm around her, helping her keep her balance and letting her know he was right there with her. It also might have been her beautiful sparkling eyes. She always looked you right in the eye and made you feel you were an incredible gift to her. Her friends were every person she ever met: every shape, size, type and age—she loved all people. She was completely loving and genuine with everyone, so maybe that made the woman do what she did.
Reaching down, without a word, the woman unlaced her sporty red sneakers and handed the shoes to my sister. Embarrassed, my father stepped in and refused the woman’s gift. “No, that’s okay. Really!” My father said, pushing the red shoes back to the woman. I think he was mortified at a woman in public taking off her shoes.
“I want you to have them.” The woman insisted, gently placing them in my fragile sister’s only good hand. She reached around and gave Angel a gentle squeeze and looked into her eyes with what must have been a very understanding heart.
Somehow she just knew, and although it left her in her stocking feet, she gladly gave this gift that was so wonderful to my sister.
Shocked, Angel stood gaping at the stranger who had, without a thought, given her the very shoes off her feet. She stammered her thanks and in amazement watched the woman walk away, her shoes now clutched in my sister’s arm. The woman seemed totally unselfconscious at her shoeless state, and I can only imagine the glow she must have felt at seeing my sister light up.
As she disappeared, my father wondered what she had been waiting for, as she left as soon as she had offered her gift. It was almost as if she were a red-shoe angel, magically waiting to give Angel this odd gift.
My father, still terribly embarrassed, nevertheless was deeply moved at this selfless gift from a complete stranger. Angel stood, clutching her new red shoes and wearing a big grin that reached all the way to her deep blue eyes. “You don’t even know if they’ll fit.” Dad attempted one last weak argument against the gift. “They will.” Angel assured him with a confident smile. “Help me put ’em on.” Dad got her seated and then loosened the laces and tried them on her size five-and-one-half feet. Like Cinderella, it was a perfect fit. “I told you,” she grinned up at him. “They were meant for me.” My sister had an almost magical belief in everything. After her treatment, Dad brought her home and they told me the story of the mysterious woman and her generosity.
I listened in amazement and wondered if the woman had any idea of the impact her gift had on our family. That a total stranger would take the shoes off her feet and, without hesitation, give them to my sister was incredible—I think maybe even the gift of an angel.
It’s been almost two years since my sister passed away. I often reflect on her great impact on the world and of the impact of the world on her. She looked for the good in people and found it more than most of us ever do. I sometimes think of those red shoes too. Angel never got to wear them much, as her feet swelled from her medication and the red shoes didn’t make it onto her feet again. But they stayed prominently displayed in her bedroom, right up until the day she left for bluer skies. Always a reminder of the good in people and the earthly angels who walk in and out of our lives all the time. Angels bearing gifts of red shoes are probably a rarity these days, but I know of at least one.
