Losing. Losses. Possibly the worst thing that can happen to us as we negotiate life. Big, small, they hurt. Buddhism espouses the belief that attachment is what causes the pain and if we could remove attachment, then our lives would be easier. But attachment is part of love, isn’t it? How can we not feel pain when love and loss go tightly hand in hand?
We’ve all lost family, friends, pets, jobs, houses, identities, confidence, independence. Huge things in the scheme of our lives. And we’ve lost small things – car keys, glasses, money, sundry possessions. It seems to me that I seem to spend quite a deal of my life looking for things.
Today I was distraught with loss.
I wear very little jewelry. What I have are mostly gifts from my mother or inherited from her estate.
There were two fine bracelets in the style of Ole Lyngaard that I had made from some of her effects. One was a tiny gold globe with an equator of miniscule diamonds on a fine white gold chain – the whole world in my hands. And the other held even more significance. A fine white gold chain studded with small gold beads made from my mother’s wedding ring interspersed with two little diamond flowers. My mother had found a little floral ring in an antique shop many years ago and Dad purchased it for her as a surprise. I’m not a ring-wearer particularly and thus a bracelet seemed the perfect way to honour both my parents – Mum for her taste and Dad for his love of her.
I was working in the sheepyards with my husband, penning up ewes for the last day of shearing. I had the pup on a lead, controlling him and the gates. I walked through the yards with him later, past the silo to shut gates and then down the lane to the house to change my boots. On arriving back on the coast, I pushed my sleeves up and noticed with horror that the tiny flower bracelet had gone.
I leaned on the kitchen bench and sobbed. For what, I wondered later? My mum? Probably. Memories? Silly really as I still had the memories.
We walked the pup in the evening dark and as we trudged along, I mentioned the theory of attachment to my husband, and we chatted about it for awhile. Try as I might, I knew I would never master not being attached to my family, to close friends, to the coast, to gardens and our cottage and apparently, to two little bracelets that in a small way, represented part of my heritage.
When I returned home after the night walk, I took off my gloves, jacket, vest, beanie, socks and runners. Quite flat after what had been such a good day walking on a deserted beach in the morning and working at the farm in the afternoon. I noticed that our pup had taken two plastic pegs from the laundry basket and chewed them on the large coir mat in the sunroom. I picked them up, also wondering where on earth the dog had picked up foil because there was a dull glimmer in the light.
And there it was!
The bracelet lying on the coir floor in a glistening little pile. The catch was badly damaged, and we think that when trying to control the dog in the yards it had received trauma but mercifully stayed within my sleeves until I took my jacket off on our return from the afternoon’s work. In truth, I’ll never know how it really happened. I’m just thrilled that it returned itself to me at all.
Other things:
I’ve been working on an embroidery I thought I’d lost years ago. I found it in a camphorwood trunk – a lovely design by Anna Scott.
And the little Womble lost his hairy ear trim. He doesn’t look thrilled, does he? I’ve found he’s as good as gold to groom if I place him in the laundry trough. Just stands patiently. He looks quite grown up but he hasn’t lost his puppy ways yet. Hanging on by his nails – 7 months old. On the cusp of adolescence apparently.
But forget losing momentarily. I want to recommend two remarkable Substacks – articles that will float you away from any difficult days you may be having.
Pip’s Sunday article is always a hamper full of joyful gifts. Everything sparkles. Absolutely love seeing each Sunday’s offering.
Kana’s eloquent descriptions of rural Japanese life have elements of calm, of balance, of seasonal regularity and hope. With each reading, I often think how much I’d like to visit rural Japan. Not the cities, but the villages. The places where talented artisans live – the potters, the papermakers, the shibori dyemakers, the silk weavers, embroiderers and many more. Skills that the Japanese revere and try to protect.
Imagine the loss of such artistry to the world. It’d be a tragedy – a grievous loss.
When I lost the little bracelet I was made aware that grief can turn very quickly from friend to foe. I will always grieve for my parents but over the years that sadness settled gently and became a part of my life, hardly noticeable but always a friend with an entrée to all the best memories. It’s been a soft, almost transparent feeling as it travelled with me along the familial byways.
But when I lost the jewelry, grief loomed over me – no longer the friend I thought it to be. I don’t pretend to understand why. But it was perhaps a salient lesson to accept what happens through life with peace, calm and a certain amount of pragmatism. C’est la vie, perhaps?
Music? This. It reminds me of dancing with Dad in the 1960’s.
Dan Fontaine again. I do love the sound.
So pleased to read you found the little treasure.
I bought myself a special bracelet for Christmas and wore it for 24 sweet hours. It could be in the park where I walked the dog, in the driveway, parking lot or fallen between the floorboards of my old house. I felt sick about it. I didn’t have it long enough to feel nostalgic, instead I wrestled with the greed of wanting such an expensive thing… I’ve since let that go, but wow, the emotions that come up!
x