Memories of a girl who lost her special umbrella

On Thursday 30 January, two days before my birthday, I lost something that was very dear to me. My camera was stolen from my home. I cannot describe in words the hurt that I felt. It was by no means a very fancy camera, yet it was also not just a camera to me. I had saved for a long time to buy it, so in some way I saw it as a symbol of my hard work and determination. It was also very special because it sparked in me a love for photography, a passion to capture and preserve some of the most special moments of everyday life. And even though I had been planning on getting a new and better camera, I would have kept this one and treasured it. I loved it so much. 

Losing it reminded me of when I lost a very special umbrella at the age of eleven. Growing up we didn't always get gifts on our birthdays or at Christmas time. Sometimes we did and sometimes we didn't. There was never an expectation to receive anything, but when we did, it was so special. And when I turned 11 years old my mom gave me an umbrella. It was the most beautiful umbrella I had ever laid my eyes on, transparent with red polka dots and a picture of Minnie Mouse! I couldn't wait for it to rain so that I could carry it to school. Well after what felt like forever wishing for such rain, it finally did one day and I got to take my special umbrella to school. BUT this greatly anticipated day turned out to be one of the most horrible days of my primary school years, as I proceeded to lose the umbrella in school...What a terrible feeling! Much like the camera, it was not just an umbrella to me - it was a very special gift from my mom. I knew how much of a financial sacrifice it was for her to buy it, and the sad look of disappointment in her eyes when I told her I had lost it brought even more sadness to me. She tried hiding the disappointment and reassured me that it was okay, but I could see it and feel it. I was not only sad for me, but for her too. 

Every school day that year I would go to the "lost and found" box, hoping to find my special umbrella, but alas, this never happened. And everyday I would walk away disappointed. After a few months I stopped looking and hoping, but for a long time afterward I still thought about how I lost a very special gift to me - a thought that inevitably made my little eleven year old heart sore.  I never cried about losing it. I felt a heavy sadness inside my heart and so badly wanted to cry, but I never did. As an eleven year old I never knew how to express my feelings, nor did I feel safe to do so. I was scared I would appear as weak and foolish, thinking who cries for a silly umbrella? I wish someone had helped release me from such a lie...that crying was a sign of weakness and foolishness...that someone had seen the burden of guilt, sadness and disappointment I carried for such a long time and freed me from it all. 

When I lost my camera two weeks ago, I cried. I cried because I felt sad, disappointed and angry, and all I knew to do was to cry. I cried in the presence of my husband and my daughter. At first I tried holding the tears because I didn't want to upset my little girl, but then I let them flow because I want her to know that crying is not to be feared, that it is not a sign of weakness but rather of strength. I want her to know that one day when she loses her special school bag, or fights with a friend, or messes up in what she thinks is the worst of ways, she can come to her mama and cry for as long as she wants.

So I suppose, even in the wake of this unfortunate event, and even as my heart continues to be sore from losing this special camera, that something good is being born from it...that the pain I once privately carried within as a young girl is being transformed into something beautiful and promising in the life of my daughter.  This is a legacy that I give to her, that all things work for good if only you allow them to.

Hahaha! This picture has nothing to do with this blog post, but I just absolutely adore that sweet little 5 month old face!