Lost

corduroy

Love that today’s prompt includes a photo of Corduroy, a story of being lost and also found. Things I have lost include so many books–including library books and the money it cost to “buy” them from the library, my Young Women’s medallion that I lost in my huge backyard in Junction City Oregon and looked for frantically to no avail. I even prayed to find it, but didn’t still. Good thing my faith was built in other ways. All my favorite records on vinyl were lost in a move that happened without me while I was away at school at BYU and my mom moved my family from Oregon to Utah because we had, more tragically, lost my dad.

If I had a dime for every time I’ve lost my keys, I’d be buying some cool gadget that prevents you from losing your keys. And maybe a new car to go with it.

There are times I’ve been worried I was losing my mind. Or I would lose my mind if things didn’t change. Things don’t usually change, but I learned to adapt, which taught me that I can change. Even when it’s hard or I don’t want to.

Yesterday I got a call from my friend Becky Cuell at 9:16 am. Of course I was at work. The last time Becky called me at work she didn’t know I’d be at work because it was a Saturday, but I was driving home from a class I’d worked on in SLC and she called to tell me she thought she had breast cancer. I cried and prayed all the way home.

Fortunately the next week Becky called me to tell me her tumor was benign. And I shouted with joy and prayed some more.

Because I lost my dad to cancer when I was 19 and that kind of loss shapes you.

In 2015 I lost my mom to cancer and, as a number of people will tell you (most recently, Dan Rather), losing your mother changes you.

That same year a good friend and mentor and two of the people closest to me moved away. I’ve many friends and try to be a friend to all, but I’m not so much BFF material. But you could say these two women were some of the best friends I’ve had my entire life.

So, to put it mildly, 2015 was a year of deep and abiding loss.

I’ve been thinking about Becky. We haven’t talked since she visited in January (I think it was January?) to bring her daughter Megan back to Provo to finish her senior year of school. But I’ve thought about her often and have been meaning to text her for a couple of weeks.

When I saw her number of caller i.d. I was worried something was wrong. Usually when people call me when they know I’m at work, something is wrong.

Fortunately nothing was wrong. It was simply this:

“I know you’re at work but I miss you and I wanted to call you right now even though you’re at work and tell you how much I miss you.”

There are no words to express how those words filled my heart.

This mortal existence takes its toll. We lose things. We lose people we love. But the bonds of family and friendship we form overcome time and space and fill our hearts forever.

For this I am grateful.

[Post edit. Apparently I got so excited seeing Corduroy I didn’t realize that was the Kids Day prompt from Ann Dee Ellis’ 8-Minute Memoir. Oops.]