Things I Lose

and the most interesting thing I found recently

When I had my annual eye exam back in December, they told me that the prescription has not changed significantly, so I didn’t bother ordering new frames. This spring I noticed that my glasses had little stress cracks in the lenses, something that has never happened to me before. The helpful lady at the optometrist’s office was new, but she found my chart and said my glasses were still under warranty and should not have cracked like that. When she entered the numbers in her database, she frowned. “This pair is from 2021,” she said. “The frames you got the last time were sort of this shape, but they were navy blue.” I drew a complete blank. I told her that I don’t have any other glasses, except for the pair I got with wires instead of a frame at the bottom, and that was a few years ago. She dove deeper into her records and she was sorry, but she couldn’t use my warranty on the wrong lenses. In my flummoxed state, I did have the common sense to say I would go home and look for the other pair of glasses I allegedly own before I ordered new ones.

The very first glasses case I found in my drawer contained a pair of navy-blue, brand-new glasses with progressive lenses. How is it even possible to lose something like that in plain sight for over a year? I put them on, and they were perfect. It came back to me as I stood there and looked in disbelief at that frame. My optometrist had been dialing in my prescription to get it right for me, and those glasses came the week that Kenny was in the hospital. I picked them up in a hurry, said, “Yeah, yeah, they are fine,” and went home. They felt strange, as all new glasses do, so I put them into my drawer and kept wearing an older pair. After Kenny died, my eyes were tear-blurred for so long, I didn’t think there was any use trying to find a prescription that felt right, anyway. I forgot entirely about the new, better pair.

You will be happy to know that I called the lady at the optometrist’s and told her she was right. I am one of those stories she tells her friends about hilarious patients.

I felt like an idiot, but quickly shrugged it off. I lose things all the time. In fact, I made a list for my own amusement, and for yours.

“Can somebody call my phone?” is one of the most common phrases my children hear. They roll their eyes in what I hope is an affectionate way, and then we all hush and listen for the ringing from maybe down in the basement in the pottery room, or in between the couch cushions, or most notably, out on the driveway having survived being driven over. I recommend good screen protectors and cases for people like me.

I lose my garden tools, and this mostly is not my fault. I am rather territorial about my trimmers and edgers and spades. When my children were little we had a set of tools they could use and a set of tools that were off-limits. I have noticed that as they get older, the off-limits boundaries wear a bit thin. Lines get blurred, and my trowels disappear, and my tiny chain saw does not get put back where it belongs.

I have been blessed with a few daughters who whisk things away, out of sight, very quickly. They can often tell me where my book is, or the car keys, or the scissors that specifically is supposed to be in this drawer, not that one. I have a theory that when the day comes that it is only me keeping house, I will still be losing things, but it will be different things. It will not be because the one me decides that the meat thermometer should be in the bottom drawer and the other me thinks it should be in the top drawer.

I lost my debit card for months. I didn’t think it was stolen, because by the time I noticed that it was lost, it had already been two months since I last used it. I searched and searched, and finally went to the bank to order a new one. I joked to Henry the Helpful Teller that I will probably find it tomorrow. It was a joke, but you know what? I did. When I wasn’t looking, I found a cash envelope in a drawer, tucked in with some other stuff, and sealed into it was my debit card along with a couple twenties. I did not tell Henry. He didn’t need to know.

Let’s talk about high stakes losing, the kind you can’t shrug off. I suppose it could be argued that a debit card is high stakes. Last week I lost my purse for twenty minutes. I lost it after we left the Russell’s BBQ joint in Linesville. One minute I was admiring the gorgeous evening, reveling in a drive with Gabe through the countryside for a Marketplace pickup. The next minute I needed chapstick, reached for my purse on the floor of the car, and it wasn’t there. I had a flash of memory: I had hung it on the back of the chair beside the one where I was sitting to eat. This little establishment is one of those that is so busy, they do not bother to answer their phone. For twenty minutes I prayed that it would still be there, and Gabe said, “It will. This is the country.” It was there, up at the counter. I gave it a little squeeze and promised to be more careful in the future.

I lost a friend this year; it is a painful thing to be told that someone you deeply care about has moved on with their life and does not want to stay in touch anymore. I wish I could give that friend a hug and promise to be more careful in the future.

It feels like I keep losing family members. Subconsciously I search for them over and over, but then the realization hits over and over that I will not find them. Not here. On my dad’s birthday in April, I spiraled into a sadness that debilitated me for days. There were texts and caring words from others who know, but it had to be my own process to deal with not having that person who was always so delighted by the weird cards and gifts I sent him. Or even just the mixed nuts in a Planter’s can. I remembered how carefully he would unwrap his gifts, his fingers teasing up the edges of the tape and pulling it off the paper, savoring the moment of the gift. I found I simply couldn’t deal, so I sat in sadness and simply mourned the loss of a great goodness in my life.

I do find things too, little things that bring joy disproportionate to their size. Some days I find perfect mushrooms and we fry them in sinful amounts of butter. I find thrift store treasures that are just exactly what I needed, and I bring them home. I find trees and plants that need to be moved into my garden. My sister gives me fluffy orange kittens. The lawnmower works again if I jumpstart it, and the asparagus is going crazy. I find a note in the mailbox, and a gift on my doorstep from a dear adopted daughter.

These goodnesses do not negate the losses, but when I accept them, hold them tenderly, they swell and fill their own spaces in my life.

Losing and finding. What else is life?