The other night I lost my reading glasses. I felt for them in my top pocket and they weren’t there. I looked around the camper van – it really isn’t that big – and they were nowhere to be seen. It was nearly midnight and almost pitch black outside. I’d taken Ted for a walk earlier. Maybe I’d dropped them somewhere on the campsite?
I was desperate to find them. The inconvenience I could manage, but Chris and I had chosen them together at Morgenthal Frederics whilst on holiday in New York in 2010 and their sentimental value far outweighed their not inconsiderable purchase price. I quite often misplace things these days (don’t we all) but this was serious. I began to berate myself for my stupidity: fancy putting them loose in my shirt pocket!
As best as I could, I retraced Ted’s walk using the torch on my iPhone to search likely places, but to no avail. I went back to the camper van and checked inside again. Not a sign. I found my big torch and swept the ground nearby. Suddenly I saw a glint in the shadows. There they were, lying in the grass a couple of metres from the van, on a well-trodden route. I picked them up and looked at them in the torchlight. They were undamaged. Phew!
It made me wonder how we can become so careless about things (and people) that are precious to us, when the novelty wears off. Sometimes we have to lose them before we realise how much they really mean to us. Chris and I were lucky: we came close to losing each other a couple of times during our relationship but in the end we found in each other the person we wanted to spend the rest of our lives with.
Even though she’s gone, I haven’t lost her.
Coming Home to Story 