LOST –N– FOUND

365 Days of Thanksliving — Day 227

Gosh, I can’t believe it’s been over a year already. I suppose I should fill ya in on what that is. Ha!

Last spring—oh, probably in May of 2025—our oldest daughter called and asked if we could send her baptismal certificate. “Sure,” we said. “We just gotta find it first.” My wife was certain it was in a golden-colored box; she just needed to find the box.

For hours, she tore up the house looking for that box. “It got packed when we left Nebraska, right?” she asked.

“Sure did,” I said. I remembered because I was the one who packed it.

While that might’ve been true, she couldn’t find the box—and as of today, she still hasn’t. Inside that box, though, were other precious memories, including one I’ll get to in a bit.

For weeks, she looked here and there and just couldn’t imagine how that box disappeared. I didn’t know either, unless of course the box was damaged somehow and I moved the contents to another box… without telling her. That’d be a possibility; husbands do stuff like that, ya know.

Ladies, no goin’ and pointing fingers now. I’ll stick up for men everywhere. HE DIDN’T DO IT! Just sayin’!

Okay, to be fair, wives move their husbands' stuff too and don’t tell them. My wife does that like ALL THE TIME. “Uh, ‘scuze me? Communication be the key, honey!”

Anyway… I’m getting sidetracked. Back to the story.

So, after a couple of weeks, I asked my wife if she’d looked in the big blue storage bins (that we’ve had since Noah built the ark). She hadn’t, but then found them, dragged them out, and lo and behold, tons of memories came flooding out. But Hallie’s baptism certificate wasn’t among them, nor was the golden box, nor was one other lost treasure that was breaking my wife’s heart. That one, it seems, had forever been lost.

Have you ever misplaced something irreplaceable and invaluable? Our basement flooded in 2013. We literally came within an inch (of water) of losing all our wedding photos and other irreplaceable treasures. Thank goodness we didn’t. That said, though, for the last couple of years, one missing memory had eluded us—until last night.

Backstory: If you read my post last night, my Navy buddy Sean touched base after finding an old pic of me from our time together on the Theodore Roosevelt. Well, that memory spurred me on to go find some pics of Sean and me that I knew I had somewhere. But not knowing where that was, I inquired of the boss. She directed me to the two black photo boxes under the credenza, but warned all the photos were a jumbled mess.

After supper, I dug out the boxes and started sorting through the pics. She was right, the photos were mish-mashed together: memories spanning two decades plus. As I sifted through the boxes, quickly gazing at almost every pic, I couldn’t locate the snapshots of Sean and me that I’d remembered taking.

But just then, as I neared the bottom of the second box, I saw something that looked familiar. Could it be, I wondered? That something was a beige-colored envelope, old and familiar. Within were our son’s “birth” certificate and the only images we have of him: ultrasounds from Danielle’s first OB visit.

Colby Allen would’ve been our firstborn. Sadly, he died in utero at just 16 weeks. Our losing him shook us to the core; and the only tangible memories we have of him are this lovely “birth” certificate the hospital staff prepared, and pictures of his ultrasound. Well, anyway, when I opened that envelope, there they were, hiding for the last two years in the bottom of that box.

Without saying a word, I gently handed the envelope to my wife. “You’ll wanna open this,” I said quietly. With a puzzled look, she slowly opened the envelope and pulled out his certificate and pictures. She sighed with relief as tears flowed down her cheeks. She tilted her head a bit, slowly gazed at them all, and silently looked up toward heaven, perhaps saying a prayer of gratitude.

What was once lost was now found.

I believe someday we’ll be introduced to our son. Our daughter Emma had a vision of him. She described her brother as being taller than her dad, slender, with the most beautiful blue eyes, and curly red hair (that he would’ve inherited from his great-grandma Claire).

I think about Colby every so often, wondering what could’ve been. And yet, every time I do, I think had he been born, Hallie might not have been (with us, anyway). Someday, we’ll all meet Colby, and that will be a day to give thanks.

For now, I thank the Lord Almighty that Colby’s memories are still around. No longer are they in the bottom of that black box, but safely secured in a fireproof box.

What are you thankful for today? Share a story if you will.