A year ago, when Mom decided to quit treatment and go into hospice, one of the last appointments she kept was with her ophthalmologist, Dr. Richard A. Lewis, MD. He was the only man she ever loved nearly as much as my Dad. A glaucoma patient for over 40 years, Mom attributed Dr. Lewis with saving her eyesight. Mom adored, and was adored by, him and his staff—so much so that I had called to forewarn them it would be her last visit. I knew she wouldn’t tell them; in the Southern tradition, that would have been undignified.
At the appointed time, Tiffany was awaiting us at reception like it was any other appointment...just as we had planned. Behind the scenes was another matter. Tiffany took me aside to give me a big hug. Linda, the office manager, hugged me also, telling me Dr. Lewis had been shaken up when she had given him the news. After all, aside from neighbors and family, my 93 year-old Mom hadn't known any three people longer than these and they probably had few patients they had seen for as long as they had been treating Mom.
When the appointment was concluded (and no, Mom never gave a single hint that anything was amiss), Tiffany accompanied us to the car. As we were walking, I asked Mom if she had accomplished her mission. She said in the sweetest imaginable voice “oh, yes, I told Dr. Lewis I loved him.” At that moment, Tiffany pressed something into my hand and whispered to me that her mother had given it to her when she most needed it. I looked down to find what I would learn later was a Jes MaHarry guardian heart charm.
Inscribed with the words “someone to watch over me,” Tiffany could not have known that this was the title of a song I first fell in love with when I heard it sung by Jean Louisa Kelly in the movie Mr. Holland’s Opus. I carried that heart-shaped charm with me every day while Mom was alive. A few days after she died, I put the charm on the sterling silver keychain Mom had given me when I had first moved away from home. Then I dropped it into the console of my car, intending to return them to Tiffany later than week.
Time slipped by. I kept forgetting to drop by Dr. Lewis’ office. Finally, one day in the Spring, I put the keychain in my purse and headed that direction, only to be waylaid by a phone call requiring my attention elsewhere.
You’ve probably guessed the rest. Later that day, I realized the keychain and charm had gone missing from my handbag. I searched everywhere: my car, my house, my clothing. No keychain. I retraced my steps: every location, every stop, every parking lot. Still no keychain.
I kept asking myself how it could have gone missing without me hearing it, so for months I searched the car, the house, my belongings…again…and again. When I had the car detailed, I finally accepted that the keychain might never be found.
That’s when I began searching online for a replacement and soon discovered that Jes MaHarry had designed the charm. I immediately ordered one. It arrived in the mail and was identical to the original, but I couldn’t bring myself to either give it to Tiffany as if nothing had happened or tell her what had. Instead, I continued to imagine the keychain turning up. Every time someone would post a lost item found to Facebook, I would think “one of these days, it’s going to be that keychain.”
And today was the day. It wasn’t nearly as dramatic as a Facebook posting. It appeared instead in the console of my car, exactly where I had first placed it intent on returning it. And, no, it hadn’t been there all along. The person who detailed my car today found it. He didn’t even call it to my attention. Instead, he left it where I imagine, he imagined, I would later find it.
I hope he understood it was a miracle.