In my version of heaven, there is a treasure chest filled with all the beloved items lost in this lifetime:
- the brand new sweater that I left behind at the outdoor theater in Vermont;
- the Tiger Eye ring with the tiny diamond that my first love gave to me– dropped on the floor of a pub in London while in a heated argument with my father;
- the tooth I lost and then really lost at age 7 in the tall grasses of my backyard in New Port News, Virginia.
I won’t need to recall all of my misplaced things because Heaven keeps track. In fact, not only will lost items be found, but things once broken will be repaired, anew:
- the tea set my aunt gave me
- my grandmother’s cookie dish
- my son’s penguin sculpture
Even things worn out, like my father’s cardigan or my husband’s scooter, will be restored.
What else might I find in this treasure chest, I wonder?
What about lost or broken or used up states of being— like innocence and play and pure faith?
What about my mother’s voice, my grandfather’s jokes, my Nana’s embrace?
What would you find, anew?