Dear reader, I grieved the loss of the brooch. I thought about it every day. I pictured it in my mind. I wanted to call it back.
Then after a couple of weeks, I received a phone call from a woman who lives in Second-Street. She said, ‘The wind blew your notice down my driveway. I picked it up and realised I had seen your brooch.’
She found it on the pavement the day after I lost it, and placed it on the gatepost at number 2 Second-Street. ‘It might still be there,’ she said, hopefully.

It wasn’t.
I charged up First Street and down Second-Street in the pouring rain, but the gatepost was empty. I knocked on the door and an elderly man answered. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘It was on the gatepost for about a week, then around three days ago it disappeared.’
I was crestfallen. However, I gave him a copy of my notice, just in case it turned up.

Coming so close to finding it gave me a big pang. It was almost worse than the first loss.

But that’s when I started to notice something.
Now that it was decidedly lost, the brooch was more present than ever before.

For shining out of that brooch was my mother’s love. I could feel it, as if she were walking beside me. I remembered all the love that she put into the presents she gave each of her five children. Even though she was often worn out, she always gave us the warm glow from her loving heart.

I had lost the brooch and gained my mother.
I had lost the object, and gained the essence.

But there is one more part to the story. Are you cosy here in the firelight? Are you ready for the next, and final part? Soon you will hear it.