Saturday, June 20, 2009

Lost & Found

My beloved mommy necklace has gone missing. I first noticed its displacement on Mother's Day. I checked all the usual suspects - jewelry box, dresser, bedside table drawers - and it was nowhere to be found. I thought about the last time I wore it. Moving day. I recalled seeing it as we were in the throes of last minute packing and I stuck it in my pocket for safe keeping. But I can't for the life of me remember taking it out of my pocket. Or ever seeing it again for that matter.

I was immediately overwashed with guilt. How could I allow such a sentimental piece such as this to slip away from me like this? How could I show such little attention to something that was supposed to mean so much to me? I admit the discovery - or lack thereof - made me feel despondent on a day I should have been completely and utterly joyful. But I was hopeful it would turn up. Surely, we would find it in our array of unopened boxes. Somehow, someway.

Both DH and I have searched high and low, leaving no stone unturned, but to no avail. I'm trying to convince myself that it's gone. Reasoning that it fell out of my pocket in transit. Or that it is in some secret, hidden place where I am unlikely to find it for years. But that is unacceptable to me. I need something tangible. Something to wear proudly, close to my heart. A token to signify my triumph. A gentle reminder of the journey that brought me full circle.

I feel absolutely empty without it.

As I was frantically rummaging through my closet trying to find the necklace, I uncovered a plastic tub of old clothes and accessories that I hadn't seen in years. I pulled out the articles one by one, holding them up to admire them in their entirety. They conjured up so many memories of high school and college. Those were chaotic times and in many ways, my life is simpler now. Even if there are aspects I miss sometimes - being a size 2/4 or my sole responsibility being to myself - I certainly don't want to trade places with my 19-year old self permanently. I traded the superficiality and angst for a much more enriching life. I feel much more wholesome and proud of myself now. I've lived a little bit. And while I still have a long way to go, I have more of an appreciation for life in general, and the little twists and turns you encounter along the way.

I came across a pair of low-rise pale blue corduroys courtesy of Abercrombie & Fitch. Size 0. They were cut a little big. More like a size 2. But I remember they made my ass look marvelous. Ah, the days of bare midriffs. I looked down at my tummy flab and love handles - my postpartum badges of honor. My body has written its own autobiography.

I recalled how healthy and alive I felt back then. When these pants adorned my hips. I had the energy to work out six days a week. I had the best figure I had ever had in my life. I had no problem working a full-time job during the day and attending school full-time in the evenings. Now I struggle to wake up in the morning. If I don't have a dose of caffeine, I can barely function. I have so much more to enjoy in my life right now but I have less vigor. So unfair.

I came to the bottom of the tub. The trip back in time was pleasant while it lasted.

I decided then and there to consign them. I can declutter our eaves and get some extra cash to afford a refreshing, new, mature yet stylish wardrobe. After all, I'll never be able to wear these again. That ship has long ago sailed. So what's the point in keeping them around? They're just taking up valuable space.

Although I admit it crossed my mind to keep the blue cords. For memory's sake.

1 comment:

Geohde said...

Funny thing. I'm the same size (I don't know US sizes, but I'm the kind of cadaveric thin that had me qruelly called 'anna' for 'anorexia' by all the jealous types in school), but the shape? Nuh uh.

Even size beanpole now has a charming layer of skin I can tuck into my jean fronts and the like.