August 2nd, 2011

I have an offline journal, one that I have been writing in daily for almost a year. The second one (or is it third now) is missing. A beautiful black spiral bound book, with thick creamy sheets of art-quality paper. Sketches. Journal entries about my babies. The last six months of Christian’s life, recorded so I could remember it. Gone. I’m just beside myself. I think I left it in the motel room, but they can’t find it. It’s not in the car, we’ve searched every bag, even the dog’s bag (in case I slipped it in there in a fit of madness trying to get everyone and their stuff out the door). So I don’t know what to do. I had to write it down somewhere, here is as good as any. I used to write here the same, and lo, it’s backed up and saved daily. But the paper journal, there’s something about that. I page back through the entries, reliving this special time.

I’m not sure what is worse, that it’s gone, or that someone else might have it and be reading it! I try to be positive in it – it’s not a diatribe of every worst-case scenario and bad experience. Quite the contrary, I try to evoke a gratitude journal (there are a few rants in there, of course, as well as some fears, oh a lot of those too).  But that it’s gone, ugh. Sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, really. I am hoping, holding out hope it shows up, someone kindly turns it in and the motel calls me.

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