Steven Wright
Nothing can make me feel stupider than misplacing something. I spent the better part of today trying to find my cell phone, that tiny, slippery little red bullet that is supposed to be in my wallet or purse. It wasn't. All kinds of dreadful thoughts occured to me as to where I could possibly have left it. I was petulant to my poor husband who was only trying to help me with suggestions. The primary rule about a situation like this is to retrace your steps, and in my mind I remembered all the stores I was in that day: grocery, toy store, library and thought I better check with all of them. Then I went through all of the pockets of the jackets that I had worn in the past couple of days, nothing. Then I searched my truck, under the seats, in the grocery bags, you get the picture. Nothing. I gave up and went for a bike ride to town, the going on my usual route to the library and grocery shopping, maybe peek into the Toy store. The lost and found at the library had the predictable kids hats, sweaters, gloves, sunglasses but no cell phone. Nancy at the Toy store said, "Nope, no cell phone here." I bought a couple more chics laying 'eggs' [gum] for the grandkids Easter baskets. I checked everywhere I'd been and should have felt somewhat resolved. But even still, could I leave it alone? No, my friends I couldn't. The worst part: I pride myself in my organizational skills. 'A place for everything' has served me well and I have strict rules on where I can put things like my keys and my purse and wallet. So, what happened? Why the amnesia now?
Last week a dear person that I cared for died, a sudden and shocking death and our entire town has been reeling. To say the least, I have been saddened and distracted. Distraction is one of the hallmarks of grieving and in many ways I am in a daze. So, I forget what I'm doing, I'll walk into a room and not know why. "Why did I come in here and for what?" Hence the mislaid cell phone, the frustration and the irresistable obsession with where the thing can be.
"Here is a way the over-fifty can easily kill off a good half hour:
- place your car keys in your right hand.
- with your left hand, call a friend and confirm a lunch date,
- hang up the phone
- now look for your car keys.
The above trick can be played by putting your reading or sunglasses on your head.
Another example of this phenomena happened to a good friend of mine. One day she was in the market and casually shopping, going up and down the aisles when she stopped to talk to a friend. She turned to move her cart and discovered it was missing. "Worse," she said "my wallet was in the cart and I felt like the world's biggest dope". Blushing, she called security and reported "someone has stolen my cart and wallet along with it!". The sheriff was called in and as she was walking back to the front of the store with the sheriff, "I saw that I was passing my cart. I had left it in another aisle, and there was my wallet prominently displayed." Ah, she felt the fool, but when you look at it she was also in a daze. One of her siblings had died and she was the responsible one in the family who had to take care of the mess left behind. Disquieting to know that when we are at our most vulnerable we are most apt to have accidents, or lose things, even our temper.
By now you are absolutely riveted to the screen dying to know, for God's sake, did she find her cell phone? The tension must be unbearable. I pedaled home pleased that my outing had performed some of the desired result, I didn't care as much if I found it. If the truth be told I also muttered this silly prayer one of my clients taught me:
"Little Tony look around, what is lost must be found." [The modern prayer to St. Anthony? I believe he is still a saint and hasn't gotten demoted like St. Christopher.] Embarrassing but true, once I said it I was able to let go a bit.
I arrived home went into the house and went to put the toy chics away with the others I had bought and lo, and behold, my cell phone happily nestled in with the chics. I walked out into the woods to tell my husband and, with my head hanging down, apologize for being petulant. I was really a bit humbled by it all.
"Difficult times have helped me to understand better than before how infinitely rich and beautiful life is in every way and that so many things that one goes worrying about are of no importance whatsoever."
Isak Dinesen
We can never say adieu to grief, it will always be in our lives until we die. But we can make an effort to be more philosophical and graceful when we literally lose it.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
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