I came to that realization because I lost it. On the bus. I wasn't exactly devastated, but I did feel, I'm afraid, a little lost myself. I retraced my steps and I called MetroTransit lost-and-found for two days, only to hear
that it hadn't been turned and probably wouldn't be.
It took a couple weeks to stop feeling so sad about it. And I learned to work with an old phone that once belonged to my son Erik, and even came to appreciate how I could use it while wearing my winter gloves. But I still missed my iPhone, which is just so silly when you think about it.
Last week I heard from my dear friend Julia. She had just received an e-mail from friends she'd been thinking about recently and hadn't seen in a long time. They had found an iPhone--with her name and number in the contacts. And, yes, it was my phone.
The little phone had been in a snow bank a couple streets from my bus stop, along with another one that apparently was stolen. A recent thaw had exposed them.
Now, I ask you, what are the chances?
Sometimes Julia calls God "Stella."
That Stella. I just love her sense of humor.