The Symbol of What Once

I'm in San Antonio for work. I've been traveling a lot lately, with so, SO much more to come.
I had a pretty good day. Work went well. It was 14 hours, but it ended on a high note and I was feeling good.

I got back to my hotel room and decided I'd put on a few tunes while I got ready for bed.
I reached for my ipod in my purse.
Not there.
I searched my roller bag. All five pockets. I dumped it out.
Not there.
I searched my suitcase, dumping all my freshly folded clothes onto my bed.
Not there.
I searched my office.
Not there.
I went to the conseirge desk.
Not there.
I double checked everything, everywhere, every drawer, every folder, every ever.

I began to cry. Not just cry, but hyperventilate. Break down and can't breathe cry. Need-to-get-back-to-my-room-before-I-scare-the-other-elevator-patrons sort of cry. Can't control it cry. I've never reacted to the loss of an object that way. I've lost cell phones, wallets, cameras, computers--no reaction even close to this.

This iPod was given to me in November of 2007. I was unemployed, single, broke and discouraged. When my car was broken into and my old iPod stolen I was fully ready to give up on life.
I did what I'd always done in those situations--I called Natalie. Through a gracious few steps (and completely unprompted), she and her husband Mike surprised me with a new iPod, complete with the engraving, "Jesus loves you. Thou Shall Not Steal" as a joke on the back.

Since the day I got it, that iPod has meant more to me than as a simple mp3 player. It is a symbol of being loved, of specific care, of mattering. And since her death it's taken on a more serious meaning; it's a reminder. It's like her heart still beats as long as I have it; she's still with me. She's there with me in every song, ever new playlist. Losing it felt like her dying all over again. I can't believe how it hit me. I realized tonight I would run back in to a burning building for a nearly five-year old iPod because of what it represents. I realize that is irrational, but rationality has never made truth any less true.

I found the iPod. It wasn't lost. And yet an hour after its return I still had difficulty calming down. I lived Nat's loss and death all over again and it simply doesn't stop just because the catalyst stopped. I was completely blindsided by the whole event; it felt like I got jumped by grief, a gang of thugs hiding in my darkened hotel room.

I plugged in my headphones into my iPod and put on Mindy Smith's "One Moment More" album, one of Nat's favorites. I sat with my irregular breathing and puffy eyes and listened and I missed her more than I had in months, her heartbeat sounding the bass drum, the keys, the guitar. My heartbeat slowed and sang along.