Facts and Superstitions

I looked down at the beach full of rocks and driftwood and saw something different from everything else.  It rested among the large stones made round from their glacial travels many thousands of years earlier.  I was returning from a visit with family.  My dad had been in the hospital having open heart surgery.  He looked like he was going to be okay when I left - sitting up, laughing, telling jokes.  Still, I was worried. 

I'm a bit superstitious.  Not in the typical way.  I'm not religious.  I don't care about black cats or ladders or birds in the house either.  I make my own superstitions.  Always have.  When I was a young girl afraid of the dark, I used to count to ten with my eyes closed, imagining a protective shield coming up from my feet as I counted.  If I counted too fast or opened my eyes before I had finished counting, the shield would break, and I would have to start all over.  Once I got to ten though, I was invulnerable to monster attacks.

Later, I used to watch for robins as I walked outdoors.  If I saw one not moving, I gave myself until it moved to make a wish.  If it moved before the wish was finished, then the wish would not come true.  If it didn't move I would smile or skip, believing I had just made some magic happen.  I never did keep track of the wishes to see which ones came true.  It was really just a game.  Yet, it was enormously comforting to me.  Gave me an illusion of control. 

So, while I walked along the water's edge thinking about my dad, hoping he was going to be okay, and I happened upon this spearhead or knife tip resting in the open on the rocks, I told myself it was a sign that he was going to be fine.  My heart skipped a beat when I saw it.  I felt like I stepped back in time for a fraction of a second.  Like I had glimpsed into yesterday.  Then, in the space between thoughts, I was transported back.  I picked it up and felt the smoothness in my hand.  I admired it's intentional shape.  I thought about where it had come from, who had used it, how, and for what.  It was a real treasure.  I felt strangely honoured to have been the one to find it.  Like it had been placed there especially for me.

For the remainder of the drive home, I thought about my dad and my mom.  I thought about how good it was going to feel to be home.  I thought about my recent find resting in the side pocket of my pants. And, somehow, for that period of time, even with the difficulty of my dad's health crisis, I felt richer.