Misplaced

I hate misplacing things. To know I have been handed something important, something valuable or irreplacable, and to later be unable to locate that item is beyond frustrating. Somewhere in my memory is the knowledge of the item and its whereabouts. I set it someplace safe. So safe, even I cannot find it.

I wish my memory had a rewind button. I could flash backwards through time, quickly moving over frames of my life until I see something familiar. I could watch myself slide that important document inside a Bible or book (and…No! the document is not inside my Bible). I feel powerless to my own attempts at protecting my treasures.

How far do you tear up a home looking for the lost item? When do you acquiesce that you may have lost something irreplaceable? My newborn baby feet ink stamped onto a hospital birth certificate….lost.