Lost and Forgotten

I have misplaced my CD case with ALL of my Prince CDs. I realized it last night. I have no recollection of seeing it last so of course, have no idea where to look. I’ve been doing some “getting ready to move” house cleaning.  I have a dismally foreboding feeling in the pit of my stomach that perhaps it got tossed in with the donations on my big recycling run a few months back. If that is the case, I will mourn much deeper than I did at his passing.

This happens to me on rare occasions. I get on these rips where “everything must go” and I start cleaning, packing, getting rid of things and in the midst of the frenzy, something beloved goes missing. The first time I did it, I was maybe 10 or 11 years old? I called myself helping out by cleaning out this room in the basement. Ended up tossing out a bag filled with irreplaceable glass Christmas ornaments my mom had purchased before I was born in her travels overseas. I was devastated. I don’t remember my mom’s reaction but I do remember feeling like the worst kid ever. The feeling contributed to my sense of not being wanted as well – long story that; to shorten it I’ll say that growing up, I thought my mom loved me, just didn’t like or want me. Knowing I’d tossed those ornaments added fuel to that depressing fire like you wouldn’t believe.

My American birth certificate is gone. Pretty sure it got caught up in a paper pile that got tossed as I was preparing to make one of the million or so moves I’ve made over the years.  I’m somewhat of a gypsy; I get restless if I live in one place for too long. The longest I’ve ever lived at the same address was as a kid. Mom bought our house summer of ’74 and I lived there (of course, I was a kid, didn’t have much a say in it) until I left for college. I came back and stayed for so many months, left for college, came back and stayed with my sister in an apartment for so many months, then left for college, came back and lived with mom again for so many months…until I graduated and stayed for eight months, then moved into my first apartment. I had my daughter shortly after that, got married, then promptly moved to a new apartment as soon as my lease was up. Stayed in that next apartment for a year maybe a year and a half, then the whole family moved into my mom’s basement. Stayed there for six years, then moved out…so on and so forth. I think since that last move, the longest I’ve ever stayed at one address is three years, and now here I am, packing to move yet again. In all of that my American proof of birth is gone. I have my German birth certificate though. I’m thinking with the threat of Donald Duck getting into office, I should probably make a concerted effort to get proof of my American birth records, lest I be deported.

Anyway, all of that to say, I’ve lost something very dear to me and it’s causing some anxiety. I needed to write to help calm myself so, here you go. Thanks for stopping by.

Love,

Dana