Lost Stolen or Strayed

I was talking to a friend the other day about things we have lost, and what they mean to us.

Thankfully I haven’t lost anything recently, though in my twenties I had phases of losing earrings – though only one out of each pair. Next it was contact lenses – again only one out of the pair. Many’s the time I spent hours crawling round the floor, patting the floor with outstretched palm, desperate to find that elusive bit of glass.

But the thing I remember most if losing a St Christopher I was given when I was about twelve. It had belonged to my mother who had been given it when she was a child by her Irish Catholic nanny, Una.

I was very fond of Una who could teach you wonderful things like how to play poker. She had a giggly sense of humour and was, looking back, incredibly wise. Shame she never married. But I digress.

When the St Christopher passed to me from my mother I was delighted as I knew it came with Una’s love as well. So I wore it constantly. While I had a bath, while I slept, it never came off.

Then one day I made it to the lacrosse team and we had an away match. On this foreign turf I ran up and down and managed to score a few goals, and when we changed back at the end of the game, I realised I had no St Christopher.

Distraught, I combed the pitch, walking up and down in icy winds with tears pouring down my face. I found the St Christopher on a muddy patch near goal.

This happened more times than I can remember, until I began to feel that this medal had a homing instinct. St Christopher was, after all, the patron saint of travellers.

So when it went missing for the nth time I didn’t worry. And of course that was when I lost it for good. So the motto of this is never to get complacent.

I still miss that St Christopher, all these years later. I can see its silver smiling face, rub its rough edges on my fingers, feel the heat coming off its tarnished surfaces. I wonder where it is now?

What have you lost that was important to you?