On loss. And playing the glad game.

phone 2

Last weekend, I experienced a sense of loss.

That deep gut wrenching realisation that so many memories have disappeared forever, that my closest companion with whom I shared everything with, told every conversation to and who knows me better than anyone else, is never to be seen again.

I lost my phone.

It’s a tragic world we live in when the disappearance of a small plastic electronic can literally feel like you’ve lost a friend.  But although my phone was not yet insured (there’s £400 I could do without spending), my gut wrenching feeling is really about so much more than the money; it’s the photographs, the videos, the memories that were so special, that I will never see or share again.

I know there are technical cyber storage vaults these days where contacts and memory and back up for back up can be backed up in the event of such a loss, but, it was a typical case of ‘not getting round to it’.

In this day and age, our phones really can be our whole lives. Every bit of data we send and receive daily, from texts and emails to instant messaging and social media are contained. As are our personal lives, from calendar events and invitations to bank statements. We’re encouraged to record everything we say and do on this tiny device, as if an overflow car park from our jam packed brains, yet it’s all open to be swiped by a stranger and gone from our lives in a moment.

Although this week has been one for mourning and loss, it’s also been a week of thinking how things could of course be far, far worse. It goes without saying that there’s being lucky enough to afford an expensive phone in the first place. But then there’s the fact that I wasn’t mugged for it, no-one is hurt, and no-one has actually died (as much as a tiny bit inside of me may feel that way every time I check my bank balance or spend 15 minutes typing a text on my old, slow, scratched, replacement mobile.)

As with any loss, I’ve genuinely received messages of condolence from those that feel my pain. I’ve heard from strangers or people I haven’t spoken to in years offering advice and suggestions. I’ve had a support network around me, from Dad lending me the old, slow, scratched replacement mobile, Mum driving me round on a Sunday night to find an open shop that sells sim cards, to my brother driving out to a cash point to do this thing called ‘topping up with credit’ in time for my week of work.

So, all in all, although I’m phoneless, around £1000 down, and have hundreds of memories lost forever, I’m playing the glad game…

Thank god it was only something so small and insignificant as a phone going missing that has reminded me just how many people I have around me to help me out in times of need.