Lost and Found

I’ve been thinking about loss a lot recently. If you read my blog last week, you’ll remember I lost my license while traveling, which caused a fair amount of stress in advance of airport security. It worked out fine, but I didn’t sleep so well.

            Then there was the loss associated with sports. The College Baseball World Series has been going on for a few weeks and I’ve become a baseball fan. I’m also married to a guy from Baton Rouge whose commitment to LSU is feverish. If you follow such things, you’ll know that LSU suffered a humiliating loss to Florida in the second of three games Sunday afternoon. The final score was 24 to 4. Horrible. I stopped watching when it was 8 to 4 thinking it couldn’t get worse. The last game was yesterday, and unbelievably, LSU turned around and subdued Florida, winning the national championship 18 to 4. As happy as I was, I could hardly stand to see the stricken faces of Florida’s team. Losing like that is hard enough, but second place is particularly lousy, especially in America.

            I also lost something of real value while we were gone: a bracelet my mom gave me forty years ago, and which my grandmother gave her thirty years before that. I loved that bracelet for its beauty, but far more so for the connection it gave me to my family. I wore it a lot, to the point where I hardly noticed it was there. It just felt like part of me. I’ve put in claims to the airports’ Lost and Founds thinking I might have taken it off when I went through security. I’ve called everywhere I could think of, but no luck. It’s gone. Someone, I hope, is grateful to have it. But I’m also aware of my memory loss. I don’t remember putting the bracelet on before we left home, or taking it off at any time, or leaving it anywhere. I still feel as though it’s nearby, like it’s hiding, or I hid it. I suspect I’ll have that feeling for a long time, hoping it’ll be sitting on my bureau one day, as though my eyes just didn’t see it all along.

            And then there’s Willard. A dear friend from a long time ago, the best childhood friend of my first husband Peter. Willard died suddenly on Sunday. Another friend called to tell me, which led me to call Peter. There’s loss there too: Willard, a beautiful and generous man, but also, a previous life I no longer belong in, a family of mine that no longer exists, friendships that are not active but are still felt and missed and even longed for. And like my bracelet, I will always love them, look for them, feel them on my skin.

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It’s hard to decide what image to include. I love this full moon from 2018,

but then the ocean called out. There’s such peace there, as though all is well and any worries can be left behind regardless of the weather or the time of year.