I just got back from Paris and sadly my iPhone did not return with me. She is now French, possibly dressed up in a little beret and surrounded by delicious bread and wine all the time — at least that’s what I hope.
We took the Eurostar train into Paris from London on Saturday, and since she is my sidekick, I kept her out sitting next to me for the trip so she could experience the beautiful scenery with me. She loved that kind of stuff.
I think I got so excited about getting to enjoy the City of Light that I rushed off the train without her. When I got back to the hotel I looked for her in every possible place in all my bags but unfortunately she didn’t make it there with me.
This isn’t the first time I lost my phone. I once left my Blackberry in a cab in NYC and almost didn’t get a third date with Christopher because I owed him a phone call and lost his number, but luckily my friend Laura had it (we wouldn’t be married today if it weren’t for her — for a million different reasons!) But this is the first time I went through all the real stages of the actual grieving process. It went something like this:
1. Denial — I have a lot of stuff in my purse so I often can’t find my phone but then I always do. So, I thought this was the same kind of thing. I was actually pretty calm and said, “It’s definitely somewhere in here.” It took me about ten minutes of searching to admit it was actually gone.
2. Anger — I suddenly became outraged with myself. How could I be so irresponsible? And I’m sure the statistics of actually finding your phone in the lost and found are probably like 0 percent — especially in a place like Paris where thieves are everywhere (seriously, pickpockets are out in full force). So, either someone stole my phone from the train or they swiped it from my bag on the way to the hotel (and if that’s the case, major props to them because I had no idea), and either way, that means my baby was in a thieve’s hand and I wanted to hit something. She was a good phone and didn’t deserve that. I was mad at myself and whoever had her.
3. Bargaining — I promised myself that if I found my phone by some crazy miracle, I would never take her for granted again.
4. Depression — I was in freakin’ Paris but I was totally bummed. Not only was my phone not there to experience it with me, all of my 400-something pictures were gone (I never backed them up on iCloud because I thought it did it automatically. Ugh.) Oh, and now comes the fun part of having to figure out how to get a new phone which proves a little tricky being over here in England when I need to make sure it’ll work in the States upon my return, not to even mention the cost. Double ugh!
5. Acceptance — After three days of going through the grieving process and learning that the Lost & Found office did in fact not have my phone, I got on the train to head back to London and was actually feeling okay. As they say, shit happens, and I’m just thankful for my year and a half with her. I hope her new owners take her to see the Eiffel Tower and do all the fun things she missed out on during our trip.
Bonne chance, my little iPhone! I hope France treats you well. XOXO
Have you ever felt this way after losing an inanimate object… or is it just me?
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