I’m always trying to figure shit out. I’m the kid always asking “why?” “Why is this happening? Again.”
A variation on the ‘why?’ is the ‘how’, as in ‘how’ is everything connected? And I do believe it is all connected; that we are all connected by varying degrees, and of course Facebook. This world and the Universe are one big matrix of a puzzle. I know I’m not going to put it all together, but sometimes, sometimes the ‘why’ is a bone and I’m a dog possessed. And sometimes I end up finding an answer to satisfy the dogged obsession.
The most recent ‘why’ was a lost ring.* This ring was laden with meaning. If you read the post about purging my books, you know this was a major life event. Most books don’t have much resale value so there wasn’t a lot of money made in the purge. But I took that eighty dollars and I put it aside. I decided that one day I would buy something that would represent that part of my library I sacrificed in Los Angeles.
That something was this ring. I found it the weekend before I left LA – it was one of a kind brass and copper, forged by hand and although it was priced higher than the cash I had, the artist made a deal with me. A week after returning to Toronto the ring went missing. I was running errands and I have no idea where it went AWOL. I searched as best I could and agonized over the loss. WHY did this happen? Why Why Why. For weeks it plagued me. And then this happened.
I’m having a visit with LG and l’il G who has just turned two. Since our last visit l’il G has become more versed with multi-syllables – I’m tickled to hear him repeat ‘Kamalilly’ over and over. I almost want to make it the official pronunciation of my name.
We head to the neighborhood parkette to continue our visit. While it’s usually abandoned today there is a day care outing with half a dozen playmates for l’il G. While LG and I visit, we keep an eye on the clock because time management is an ongoing project and I’ve got another rendez-vous in the area. S uddenly there’s a tink of metal on metal followed by a gasp of ‘No!’
One of the two young women from the daycare group has lost her wedding band. It has flown off her finger, ricocheted off the monkey bars and is camouflaged by playground sand. We all start looking for what the woman describes as ‘just a silver band’. She is stoically aloof which I later recognize as the Canadian affliction of ‘not-wanting-to-make-a-fuss’. But it’s a wedding ring! What could be more laden with meaning?! But after ten minutes she insists we stop fussing, she’ll come back later to look. I am not having it. I am driven by my own recent ring loss. How else to explain my dropping to my knees and systematically raking through sections of the sand even as LG reminds me of the time. Still I persist, how could I not? It’s right here. Somewhere. There isn’t a list of locations to sift through, just this expanse of sand. A finite amount of sand, here in this contained space. So I rake away, and lo the ring is found.
Joy reigns in the playground. The woman confesses the dread and torment she felt at having to tell her husband about the lost ring, to the point she was avoiding replying to a text he had just sent. The other woman confesses she didn’t think it would be found later after more feet trammelled had trammeled through the playground, burying the band deeper. And LG insists I’ve been a stellar samaritan today; I persevered when others had tired of the hunt.
I know the truth is that I was driven by loss and grief. It was personal experience that impelled me to help out this shy stranger. Some might argue coincidence or that life is more nuanced and complex, but I’m just happy to have a reason ‘why’ when I think about my books and that ring.
*This post was written months ago before the playground sand was buried under feet of snow. I thought it had been published on the site then, but discovered differently this weekend. The ring is not the last thing I lost, the most recent thing is much more heart wrenching. Days before Christmas one of my mother’s gold earrings disappeared during errands. This is the third time in the seven years since her death, and each time it happens it revives the initial grief at losing her. I don’t have an answer for why this happened, and maybe I never will but there is a nuanced complexity to the coincidence that today would be dad’s 73rd birthday. Just saying.
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