The blisters on the balls of my feet are almost healed. I was hoping that by the time the blisters healed I would stop feeling pain, but that was just wishful thinking.
I got these blisters marching behind my father’s casket wearing high heeled shoes in the pouring rain, rain that masked my tears and seemed particularly fitting for a funeral.
Walking behind the caisson seemed like a good idea, but it was farther than the funeral director led us to believe, and the soldiers marched faster than he led us to believe, or maybe it just seemed that way because of the rain and the burgeoning blisters. I took my shoes off and walked on the asphalt road, bits of gravel digging into my soles less painful than the blisters, less painful than the hole in my heart…. a hole that has not yet healed. I miss my dad.