I think the flyer is stapled to every utility pole on our side of North Highand, between Alon's and North Morningside. It might be on others, too, but that's where I've seen it while walking to Alon's or walking the dog. A purse, stolen from a parked car parked late at night in front of Alon's, contained some irreplaceable things that would be of no value to anyone other than the person from whom they were stolen: a wedding and engagement ring, that had belonged to her mother; some letters; a card from her father's funeral. So there were flyers, and an offer of a reward.
When I first saw these, Iain and I were walking to Alon's. Do we really think the perpetrator lives in the neighborhood, I asked him. But of course the wallet could have been taken from the purse, and the purse discarded, and someone might have found it. But if someone had found it, I doubt that the finder would have waited for an offer of a reward to try to get it back to its owner.
My father died in 2003, and the following year my mother had a devastating stroke; she died nine months later. During the time between my dad's death and my mother's stroke, I remember her telling me with great sadness that she had lost her wedding and engagement ring. Years before, she had had the jeweler fuse them together as a single ring, so when she lost one, she lost them both. My mother was not a highly emotional woman, but she was sad that the rings were missing. She said she'd looked everywhere, that she was sure that they weren't in the house, that she was afraid the rings had slipped off in a supermarket vegetable bin. I was sad for her, but there was nothing I could do to help.
After she died, there were so many things to get rid of. We gave things away, threw things away, and sold things at auction. There was a car that we didn't want. A friend of my dad's suggested that if we were willing to give it away, the youth minister at my dad's church could use it. He was a young man with a wife and children, and maybe they needed a second car, or a bigger car, or a more reliable car, I'm not sure. Anyway, that would get it off my hands, so I signed the title and gave it to him.
I was at my parents' house sometime later - still dealing with the contents of the house, probably, although I don't remember for sure - and the youth minister came to see me. He had found something in the car, he wasn't sure but thought maybe I would want it. It was a ring. It was small, he said, he thought it might be a child's ring. He took a small brown envelope from his pocket; it was my mother's rings.
I hadn't thought about this for years, but seeing the sign on the neighborhood utility poles reminded me of it. Once lost, things of value only to you sometimes do find their way back.
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