#MyFirst... Agonizing Loss of Material Possession

My 14 year old son came up with the topic for this week's #MyFirst. I thought it was a great one... until I realised that I don't agonize over material possessions. Funny, isn't it. I agonize over words that come out of my mouth. I agonize over the future. I agonize over mistakes I have made. But if I lose something - even something precious to me - I shrug and accept it and move on.

There is no use crying over spilled milk. I really do seem to have internalised that little truth.

I have lost all sorts of material possessions in my time. I have lost books, bags, jackets, jewelry. I lost my car once, and did something quite bizarre in the street whilst looking for it. I have lost precious digital photos when my computer crashed. I have lost several sets of keys. I have lost two mobile phones. (One I retrieved in extraordinary circumstances; having lost it at uni, I walked the length and breadth of the campus ringing it on my mother's phone, until I heard it and looked up and saw it hanging in a tree.)

I once lost a pinky ring that used to be my sister's. I would never normally wear pinky rings, but I will wear nearly anything that reminds me of her. It was a little silver knot, and I wore it on my left hand. It just disappeared one day, and I did have a pain in my gut for a while. And then I moved house, and then I moved a second time, and I never expected to see that ring again. I let it go. I always let these things go.

Two months later, I was doing a load of washing, and the ring appeared on the rim of the washing machine. The new washing machine, in the new house. It had come back to me. It had reappeared. It was like my sister was making an appearance in my new home. Her ring was her housewarming present to me.

But still... there is one thing I have lost that continues to haunt me. One thing I have lost that I pine for two years later. And it is not what you would expect. It is not of any sentimental value. But I want it back, and I miss it, terribly.

It was a jumper.

Yes, a jumper. A sweater. A long sleeved pullover. Two years ago I was in Los Angeles, and I bought myself the perfect woollen jumper. It was the perfect soft wool. It was the perfect charcoal grey. The neckline was the perfect shape. The sleeves were the perfect length. It was slim to the thighs but stopped at the exact perfect place. It was the most beautiful, perfect, made-for-me jumper I had ever seen. I had been waiting for that jumper my whole life. I would wear it forever. I couldn't believe my luck.

I bought it. We left the shop. I put it on. I got warm. I took it off. We had a coffee. I left it on the chair. And I never saw it again.

I was gutted. I searched for it in every shop in LA. I never found it. I never got over it. I still want it back.

Other than that, I don't agonize over material possessions. There is no point crying over spilled milk. But lost perfect woollen garments that will never be found again? Well, they are another thing entirely.

Next week's topic: #MyFirst... Car Accident