What To Do When You Lose Your Angel

I'm not talking about the airy, heaven-sent kind with wings. I'm talking about a legitimate angel. Mine was teensy... dime-sized, gold-colored, kind of cupid-ish. He/she/it attached to a push-pin, and my mom gave it to me when I went away to college for the first time 10 years ago. Ten years ago! When she gave it to me, I pinned it to the loop strap on the top of my backpack. That angel went everywhere my backpack went for ten years: sleepovers at another dorm, Russian literature class, soccer road trips, work, the gym... everywhere. When I got a new backpack, I transferred the angel. Each time I did, I smiled to myself and felt... well, a little bit protected.

Maybe you can sense where this is going (especially if you read the title of my post). As I've mentioned, Tiffany and I took a big vacation last month. We saved up our days and our money and spent three weeks in Vietnam and Cambodia. It was amazing and totally different than anything either of us had ever done and... you guessed it, my angel went with me. Then, he/she/it was gone.

We were on our way to Siem Reap, Cambodia from Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. After spending all night on a train, we raced to the airport and, with plenty of time before our flight, breathed a sigh of relief as we cruised through security. And then I reached for my backpack. I grabbed the loop strap. It looked naked. There was no dime-sized gold-colored angel. No he/she/it cupid-ish pin.

"Uh oh," I whispered.

Tiffany heard me.

"What?" she asked.

"My angel," I said, and I didn't have to explain. She knew I wasn't using a term of endearment directed at her. She knew what my angel was and where it should have been. Thank goodness. I was afraid to talk too much about the missing angel for fear that might give greater significance to its previous presence on my bag.

"Uh oh," Tiffany whispered.

I swallowed and swung my bag onto my back.

Here's the thing about losing your angel. You have to pretend like you don't care. I was sad because I knew my mom would be sad, and I was a little scared because even though I don't consider myself to be a superstitious person, I guess in some ways I am. When I played soccer, I didn't eat the same thing before games or ritualistically exchange a secret handshake with a teammate, but I did wear the same rubber band in my hair until one day it would snap or, like my angel, disappear. Likewise, I say the same prayer every time I get on a plane (my trick is to balance pleading for my life with lots of thank yous--thank you god for my wonderful family, thank you god for my wonderful girlfriend, thank you god for this trip... and please protect everyone on this plane and help us land safely in _____).

I can always say my prayer. I could grab another rubber band and play. But I didn't know where to find a dime-sized, gold-colored he/she/it cupid-ish angel in the airport in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. I'm not sure where my mom got my angel in the good ole USofA. Who knows how any replacement would perform anyway? Maybe angels have life expectancies and mine had come to the end of his/hers/its.

Tiffany and I had a plane to catch, so we caught it. I said my prayer then reached down to touch the loop strap of my bag. I felt the hole and, squeezing Tiffany's hand, said my prayer again.