More than forty years ago I had decided to settle in Toronto, where my mother and sister were already living. Six months of gallivanting with ‘nary a care had led me to Calgary, Vancouver and points north – but I returned east in October to revisit my home city of Montreal, job seeking. The political climate was poor and nobody could get into any office building without an appointment, so I straggled back to Toronto and started pounding the pavement.
Three girls in particular were great pals – each of us in the secretarial pool of a major insurance company. One was married already, and two of us single. Eventually we met who we thought was the knight on a white steed – and the dye was cast. The married friend was my Matron of Honour at a small ceremony, her husband the unofficial photographer. As time unfolded, they became parents; and I was asked to be godmother to their son.
Circumstances led us in different directions, and we lost touch eventually. The significance of being someone’s godmother was not lost on me though, and I always wondered if they had returned to England. The trail was cold – and I tried for a long time surfing internet sites to discover their whereabouts.
More recently, I had been entering the husband’s name on all of the social media sites, with no luck. A lot of water likely under the bridge for them and me; and my hopes waned.
Last evening, when browsing; bingo! Previously not discovered – a face leapt out at me – not really as I had remembered him, but there was very likely the husband! I nearly quavered – but zipped off a one-liner message which said “Do you have a son named “so-and-so”? Today a reply –“yes”, and with a couple of back and forth messages, we’re going to reconnect!
This may not seem particularly unbelievable – but there’s more – all of us are living in the same municipality… and this week they will be no longer Lost… but Found!