Sunday, August 22, 2010

After I have spent time with them, I recall much that has been repressed and buried for years. Within an hour we have tried to find cell phones and glasses. Some could blame their age, but, in my family, I always remember looking for things. They leave to meet my brother while I call around to see if they were left somewhere along the way.

My daughter is listening to the conversation. She knew the who...and that when Grandma and Grandpa are visiting there will be a search for something. The blaming is hard to hear. "You must have moved them," equates to an accusation of intense emotion, as though there was some nefarious reason to hide the item. I am transported back to childhood when I wanted to make it all go away. I wanted to find the treasure and move on, instead of having the tension climax just before a sweater is moved to reveal the clandestine object, relieving the agony.

I may have found the glasses, we need to drive to find them....and I am okay with that. I am okay with the find...it is the loss that just seems to get so out of control.

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