Things That Are Missing

When you move from place to place, it's inevitable that things get lost in the shuffle. I've been looking for my Dad's apron that I wore during baking for years, and I haven't been able to find it. Somehow it made it all the way from Mississippi to Maryland, but got lost here somehow.

I had a journal, full of story scraps and ideas, and that didn't make it from Mississippi. (The writer in me still mourns the loss of this book.)

Sometimes they are things that you decide you're ready to get rid of. Moving from my one-bedroom to the two I share with my boyfriend and his son, I knew I needed to consolidate my things. My old hood drier I didn't use anymore after getting a new one had to go. Most of the furniture had to go. The ottoman that my mom had gotten me when I moved into my first apartment had to go - honestly, that was probably long overdue, but my parents instilled in me a reluctance to replace things that weren't at least salvageable.

I got rid of my old cookware since his is newer and nicer. However, I did have to go to Target to get more bakeware. It didn't dawn on me that people who don't bake don't necessarily have nesting mixing bowls...

But all of this pales in comparison to what my parents and brother had to go through earlier this year.

While my parents were out of town and my brother was home alone, an electrical fire started in the sunroom, jumped into the roof, and spread throughout the house. No one was hurt, and it didn't spread to the neighbors or the backyard. While not a total loss, the house was unlivable.

My parents and brother had enough undamaged clothes and personal items to be alright - the flames didn't reach the bedrooms in the back, but there was plenty of water and smoke damage. They stayed with church members and then in hotels while they figured out their next steps.

It was then that they started realizing a lot of things that had been lost.

Bigger things were obvious, furniture, electronics, etc. But it was the small things, the things that you tend to keep in your house and only notice when you've run out, that were daunting.

My parents were blessed to have found a house within a couple of months and moved in, and started the process of moving the few items that they had left into the house while buying new things. But for the months after, and even still today, they're realizing things that are missing.

My mom lamented the spice cabinet. If you cook with any regularity, you know that spices can get expensive. My brother, currently preparing for the annual Christmas cookie exchange, just realized that there aren't any cookie cutters.

Over Thanksgiving, I sent pictures of two recipes that I'd originally gotten from my mom back to her when I realized she probably had lost them in the fire (the kitchen took the brunt of the fire). She almost cried and so did I.

I'm grateful that my family is alive and well to be able to worry about such things. They're still replenishing their new home, and while I haven't seen it outside of pictures, it seems lovely.

My move was less traumatic and not forced by loss, but I could not help but make comparisons between the two. How many times do we hold on to things that we don't need, but have a nostalgic connection to? How many things in your house, right now, would you truly mourn if they were lost to you? It's a sobering thought, to be sure.

I make it a point to have my writing in multiple places digitally, both to safeguard against computer viruses and against my own accidental nature. I can't imagine if it had all been on paper and destroyed in a fire along with my mom's cookbooks and handwritten recipe cards.

So it's just another reason to be grateful in this holiday season. Grateful that I have my seasonings and cookware and baking dishes (though no apron). Thankful that my family is safe. And thankful that the things that were lost live on in our hearts and minds.