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!
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