While trying to work my way around all the Little Peppers’ blog posts, I found this one at Part-Time Monster. It made me ponder what I have lost and how much there is to lose. Then I felt fortunate that I haven’t lost more. Sometimes we have no control over it and other times, maybe we are careless. I guess it is all relative. Some things I’ll never get back, others, I might yet see again.
Like that gift voucher that expires early December.
I’ve lost both sets of grandparents. Which makes them sound like salt and pepper shakers that I left in a car park somewhere. Lost is a strange euphemism for death. But, while the ache of loss never leaves you, I stopped feeling angry that they died and felt privileged that I knew them to an age where I was old enough to remember them. Old enough to have meaningful relationships with them. Old enough to understand what it meant to lose them.
I’ve lost a dog and two cats and the tree outside my bedroom window.
I lost Billy Goat Gruff when I was three. I took him as a shopping companion with Mum and he never came home. Strangely, I can’t remember what he looked like but I vividly remember my distress when he went missing.
Every year, we gave up some of our things to charity. Technically, that doesn’t classify as ‘lost’ except, I gave up MonkeyMonkeyMoo and regretted it. My aunt knitted him for me when I was in hospital. I kept other things she knitted that were smaller and easier to store.
I’ve lost friends to nothing more sinister than different paths. I lost a book to one of those friends, but I believe the book is better with her.
I lost my favourite dangly earring one winter.
I lost my purse on Christmas Eve and got it back five days later with everything still in it.
I’m losing hair and skin cells and youth with every passing year.
Hopefully I have lost misconceptions and ignorance and fear.
Perhaps I have lost religion but found faith.
Perhaps I have lost my mind but found sanity.
So much to lose, but still so much to find.