|Do you often misplace things? Are your keys never where you left them? Is it common to find your television remote in the fridge? Guys, I am NOT this person. It is extremely rare that I lose anything and when my children ask me where their baby doll with the blue buttons is, or the LEGO head with the blonde hair, I ALWAYS know. I did however, once lose the most precious item I have ever owned. Hold onto your hats, this is a tale….|
Ok, you need some backstory. A million years ago, my grandfather (Pop) was a young man in communist ruled Yugoslavia. Opportunities were limited and he wanted out. He left his parents and eleven brothers and sisters at home, hid in the Italian bordering mountains while being shot at by occupying soldiers and eventually gained passage to Canada. This is a very over simplified version of a very complicated and interesting story, but we all have things to do this weekend and it’s not the tale I am weaving today. Anyways, he left with one small rucksack (which he still owns) and a gold wedding band his mother gave him.
Fast forward, he arrives in Canada, meets my grandmother (Nan) at a dance (so sweet) and they get married. He gives my Nan his mother’s gold wedding band.
Fast forward some more – they have my mom, who later has me, and I grow up, being told the story of Pop fleeing his homeland with nothing but a rucksack and the ring.
Ok, here’s where it gets cool. When I met the MM man my Nan fell in love with him (like really she wanted to marry him). Around this time her hands started to become extremely arthritic and it was painful to push the ring past her knuckles, so she passed down the wedding band to me, in hopes I would wear it as my commitment to the MM man.
One day I was at work in a very important, ‘fancypants’ meeting and I looked down and noticed the ring was missing from my finger. “Nobody move!” I yelled. I got down on my hands and knees and searched every square inch of that boardroom. I ran crying to my office and rummaged through every drawer, pulled out every book and looked under every piece of furniture. I searched my car, the parking lot and turned my house upside. Weeks went by and I called every public space I had been in for months, begging them to check their lost and found box one more time. The ring that had been in my family for four generations and travelled across the ocean was gone.
When I visited Nan she would occasionally ask about the ring (that I had been wearing daily for six years). “Oh it was feeling a bit too loose,” I would lie. “My hands swell in the summer and it was hurting,” I would complain. Every few months she would bring it up and every few months my eyes would swell, my throat would go dry, and I would struggle to come up with a new lie.
And then my Nan died.
Months went by and while home on maternity leave with my daughter, I continued to look for the ring daily, almost as punishment that I had not only lost this precious family heirloom but that I hadn’t been honest with my Nan.
Then one day I received a voicemail from a colleague who was covering my maternity leave. “Hi Karla, it’s Annie. I think I found something that belongs to you.” I knew instantly. Annie drove over after work and handed me the ring.
“Where was it?” I asked. I honestly couldn’t believe it, after almost two years it was back on my hand. “It was so strange,” she said. “I was cleaning out the filing cabinets with all of the town’s street information and it was found underneath one of the hanging folders.”
I was ecstatic. Now you might be thinking (sarcastically) “cool story Karla. You lost a ring and then found it. We all lose stuff.” Possible, but I happen to believe my Nan watches over me. I feel her around me a lot and if you are person who doesn’t believe in miracles, angels or the power of universe working for you, maybe this will change your mind – the hanging file this ring was hidden under for two years was the street file for Brock Crescent; the street my Nan and Pop have lived on for 50 years.