Lost and Found

My father was never a sentimental person and he resorted to cash for most of his gift giving. So any piece of jewelry that he gave my mother was exceptional, not for its value or its beauty, but more because he actually went to a store and picked something out. So years ago when my mother cleaned out her jewelry box and offered me a large silver (plated, not sterling, for heaven’s sake!) pin that my dad had given her one Christmas, I jumped at the chance to have it. The older I get the more sentimental I become and mementos from my now-dead father are particularly dear. The pin doesn’t match too many outfits so I rarely wear it, but rummaging through my pin box always causes a smile at the speculation at my father’s discomfort navigating the store’s women’s section in his quest for this gift.

On a recent cold morning, I actually selected his pin and fastened it to a scarf and marched out the door to a busy day. When I returned home late that night and changed clothes, I realized I had lost the pin. In a totally out-of-proportion reaction to the loss given that I had worn it maybe 4 times over the decade, I found myself incredibly saddened. I wracked my brain to remember when I last remembered it on my scarf and called the grocery store where I suspected it came loose. No, the office manager said, there was no pin in the lost and found drawer.

Days went by, with Thanksgiving occurring and guests coming and going, and I kept thinking about the pin but didn’t have time to call the store again. Weeks later I finally stopped in. Perhaps we have it said the manager this time. Doubtful, because our mutual descriptions were so different, I watched her reach in her drawer and hold out her hand. The grin and whoop of glee I let out startled her but then she caught my enthusiasm and grinned in return. No skepticism about whether I was really the owner, she handed it to me and let me thank her. I literally skipped out the store with the pin clutched in my hand.

In this season of sometimes too much abundance, I wish for you the joy of finding something you thought you had lost, of memories evoked from a sight (or a sound, a touch, a taste or a smell) and the sense of peace that comes from the knowledge that these are the things that really do endure in the end.