Losing and Finding

“In every losing there will be some kind of a finding. There always is. Sometimes you have to wait for it, but it will come. In the end, you will discover that there is a perfect balance between what one loses and what one finds.”

Those words were spoken by Mary Reynolds in The Rule of Thirds.

We lose so much in our lifetime. The lost, replaceable material things, although crushing in the moment, become fleeting and forgotten in the future. Mattering not in the entire scheme of things, a lost article is simply a lost something. We often find joy in the next stage that occurs when we fix the situation with the discovery of something new. Sometimes the next find is even more rewarding than the initial loss. The passed over promotion has led us to land an even better job. Our new home becomes even more special than the one we lived in for decades. Or that brand new car is safer and more reliable than our old trusty yet rusty heap.

It is the loss of loved ones that leaves us shattered. A lost someone is a weight that often becomes more than one can bear. When someone you are dating has left you in the dust, or your spouse moves on to another, or when you lose the beloved family pet, you are desolate.

But the finality of a loved one dying is beyond devastating. How does one replace the irreplaceable? One simply does not. But what one can do is find solace. That takes time, and a lot of patience and faith.

Life circles around and in its continuous rotation, the souls of our lost loved ones have a sneaky way of returning. Subtly and randomly, they lead us to discoveries, reminding us that they are still here with us in spirit. Somehow we find that misplaced letter tucked in the back of a drawer, its words reiterating how deeply we were loved. Then, in the midst of a long road trip, we hear that song that we had danced to with our parent at our wedding and we are jolted back to a different place and time. One morning we awaken from an almost palpable dream, one filled with cherished moments of being with them again. Then, late one afternoon, a persistent butterfly remains perched for hours on the plant in the kitchen window box. Fluttering its wings, it shows us that our loved one is still looking out for us. And then that incredibly joyous day arrives when we look into our newborn grandchild’s eyes and we catch a glimmer of recognition. They are here with us, always.

We lose often. But we also find renewal.