Walking a mile in her shoes…
During my sophomore year of high school in Punta Gorda, Florida, I got my first job. It was at a locally owned, fine dining restaurant, and the town hub for public officials and business owners. I showed up to the interview in the sweatpants I wore to school that day. This wasn’t my choice, the manager told me to get there right after school. I worked as a hostess for two and a half years, and I came to know many of the town’s prominent people. Doctors, lawyers and politicians. One of those people included Kerri Keminski, a representative for a local wine distributor, and my future role model.
She must have been about 40 when I first met her. Divorced, two kids, and a casual boyfriend. Whenever she walked into the restaurant, it was almost in slow motion. Her hair blowing in the wind while opening the door, and a smile that could be seen from across the room. She would come into the restaurant around 5 p.m. before the rush started to sample wine with the owner.
I remember the first day I met her. She towered over me wearing 6 inch heels when she introduced herself. Kerri had gorgeous, long hair that was auburn in color and always perfectly curled. She had an incredible sense of style and wore clothes that showed off her finely toned figure. She was extremely fit and would always talk to me about her intense workout routine that even at my young age I couldn’t dream of doing.
Everything about her was near perfect. Kerri always had something nice to say to anyone she met. She was a shining light in the community, welcomed by everyone. When she entered a room, she made everyone’s day better. She was beautiful, elegant, intelligent and kind.
I have been referring to her in the past tense, because Kerri passed away.
About two and a half years after I met her and on Christmas Eve, Kerri was diagnosed with colon cancer. I live in a small town where everybody knows each other, and such news took everyone by surprise. Shortly after, we learned that the cancer had progressed to stage four. The whole town went into action. Fundraiser after fundraiser, many of which took place at the restaurant, we helped raise money to help her and her kids.
Stage four is not easy to recover from. We all knew that, as did she. To this day I wonder how someone so young became so ill. It was horrible to watch her deteriorate. She showed the usual signs of cancer: weight loss, hair loss and weakening muscles. Towards the end, she was all of 90 pounds. Kerri didn’t want the sympathy, she wanted to celebrate the life she had left, and she was smiling until the very end. She traveled around the country, took trips with her kids and enjoyed life until the last minute. Kerri passed away shortly before her youngest son’s high school prom and graduation.
After she passed, a mutual friend of both Kerri and I had the task of going through her belongings alongside her kids. I was offered most of Kerri’s high heel collection.
I had always admired her shoes. She wore high heels everywhere, as I did when I worked (probably to compensate for showing up the interview in sweatpants). We always complimented each other’s shoes and outfits. Many of the heels fit me and as I mentioned before, she had great style.
Today, my favorite pair of shoes is a pair I got from Kerri. They are closed-toed, black, velvet and pointy with a thin strap around the ankle. They remind me of shoes that Audrey Hepburn (another role model of mine) would wear. They were classy and sophisticated. All of Kerri’s shoes showed different aspects of her personality: flip flops for lazy days, sneakers for active days with her kids and her many high heels, for everything else.
Whenever someone asks me where I got my shoes, I usually reply, “a friend.” If I feel the need to tell the story of Kerri, I usually get some strange looks. Some people may think that wearing someone else’s shoes (someone who has died) is morbid or weird. To those who knew her, I would answer “Kerri,” and get a different response. Sad looks, no words or sometimes a sigh. Either way, the reactions are never positive.
For me, the feeling is opposite. I feel happy and confident when I where these shoes. I feel like Kerri is with me when I wear them, and like she is saying, “You are ready to take on the world!”
Tags: Shoes, Grief, Loss, Role Model
