Of all the things I’ve lost

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My mother had a key chain years ago that said, “Of all the things I’ve lost, I miss my mind the most.” Hilarious, right? I didn’t understand as a young adult, just starting out on my quest to find myself, how true this little nugget would eventually be in my own life.

I don’t care what your opinion of ADD might be; there is definitely truth to some of us having problems keeping our minds focused on one thing for more than one second at a time. My philosophy is, we are trying to focus on so much that some things get shoved to the back of our brains to wait, some hide there, some perch waiting to catch a firing synapse, but many just get lost in the shuffle.

I lose things. My delightful employer laughs at me regularly about dropping money, my own money, all over the restaurant. She is convinced that I don’t need the work and just hang around for the fun of it.

I remember losing my favorite toy as a young child, “Bobo” the monkey. I had been playing with him in a pile of leaves in the back yard. I remembered where I left him about the time my daddy lit that pile of leaves and I watched my stuffed friend go up in smoke.

It was traumatic for a kid. I vowed to keep a better watch over my dolls and toys from that day forward.

As life progressed I continued to lose books, parts of cheerleading uniforms, homework, various forms or applications I was supposed to get back to somebody, jewelry, sack lunches, shoes and things of greater and less importance.

I have awakened in the night crying because of nightmares about losing children in parks or malls. I have temporarily lost a kid or two in a store, but since I turn into a screaming crazy woman within miliseconds, I usually find them pretty quickly.

It always frustrated me to the point of tears to lose anything, but that never stopped me. My only hope was to turn it all over to God. He knows my shortcomings better than anybody. I simply asked one day that he help me find something I really needed. Within minutes I reached out in a dark attic and put my hand on the very item I had not seen in decades. I am not even kidding! He has seen fit to help me in those situations many times, but he has not seen fit to heal me of it.

I’m afraid I have passed my propensity to lose on to my offspring. If they didn’t have such a fabulous daddy, they would be pitiful. I can’t seem to teach the importance of keeping up with their junk any more than I can keep up with my own.

My grown kids can testify to this. They are “losers” too. But thankfully they have heard my testimony about prayer, and hopefully someday when my mind does go over the edge they will put me some place where I can crochet and read and watch “The People’s Court” and have my laundry brought to me in a basket with my name on it.

I’ll try not to complain about any lost socks, and maybe I won’t even realize I’ve lost my mind.

Angie Brown is a humorist who loves being a wife, mother and grandmother. She lives in Opelika with her husband of 31 years and four of their seven children.

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