Losing My Cell Phone

People always say you only learn who your true friends are when you get cancer, or your husband of two decades leaves you for his 26-year-old secretary, or you run over your own dog.

I know an easier way to get a fix on your posse.  Throw your cell phone out the sunroof as you drive down the New Jersey Turnpike. Leave it wedged in your seat back on the Delta Shuttle.  Or, as I did recently, do something decadent like ride a horse in the woods by yourself - not even with kids as an excuse -- with your cell phone in your back jeans pocket.  

The thing must have bounced out at some point.  I walked the trail twice (without the horse) and couldn’t find a trace of my phone amidst the pretty fall leaves on the ground.

For hours, as the loss sunk in, I experienced waves of dread and grief.  I couldn’t imagine life without my contacts. It had taken me over five years to build up hundreds of critical, often unpublished numbers. 

Reliable babysitters.  The orthodontist’s private line.  The reservation number for my favorite sushi spot. Moms who would always pick up my kids from school when I got stuck somewhere.  The school nurse.  My best friend from summer camp who lived in Scotland.