Lost but not forgotten, but in this case, Lost AND forgotten

It is said that desperate times call for desperate measures. If ever there was a desperate time, this was it. Thad thought back to what his grandmother used to tell him about that gold pendant she wore around her neck. What was it again? A hatchet? An axe? Something about a Saint and how he died and how he was desperate also. No, that wasn’t it. The dude wasn’t desperate. Everyone else was desperate. Or was Saint Jude telling them not to despair? His grandma always said without hope there is only despair. Or was that the saint talking again? We have to keep going no matter what life throws at us. 

Damn, he missed his grandmother right about now. She would sit him down at her kitchen table with the embroidered tablecloth covered with clear plastic to protect the cross stitching beneath to have a nice long chat with him over a cup of weak tea. She might even pull out the tin of saltines and make butter worms if he was lucky. She would tell him to quit his pouting and pull up his pride. Ask for help; even presidents need a lot of aides and assistants to help run the country. No one can work alone. 

Thad wasn’t so sure Bill Gates would agree. Certainly not Donald Trump. He absolutely thinks he ran the entire world single-handedly. But now Ronald Reagan, there was a man that his grandma could stand behind, or in front of, or next to. She had such a crush on that man. She would have Thad watch those old black and white movies with her on rainy Saturdays. He’s kind of surprised she didn’t start calling him Dutch. Right around the time she died is when he started to question everything. 

Why is it that evil always triumphs? Why does George Bailey not get to leave Bedford Falls? His dream of shaking the dust off his feet of his small town doesn’t come true. He didn't become an architect and build bridges. Sure, he had a wonderful life, but it wasn’t the life he had exactly been hoping for now, was it? But is that evil at play? He had so many roadblocks thrown at him along his life path: the death of his father, being delayed going off to college, giving his tuition money to his brother, having to run the family business. Is this all just part of a great Big Plan? Or why is it that George Bailey never gets his dream of moving away to live in a big city? His dream of having a million dollars?

Why is it that Mike Wazowski never achieves his dream? Whenever he mentions his aspirations, he is laughed at. He is bullied by his peers and teachers too. Even strangers on the street mock him and try to make him feel small. He maintains his positive attitude for so long and works so hard that how can you not be cheering for him? He wants his dream job, and even when Sullivan gets him kicked out of the program, he finds a way to work his way back in. He is a naturally charismatic leader. He is a cheerleader and coach all in one package. I don’t know how the writers didn’t find the heart to make Mike a monster. I think Pete Docter, Jill Culton, Jeff Pidgeon, Ralph Eggleston at Pixar need to take a closer look at themselves and give a kid a break. Nice people do not finish last. Nice people do not finish at all. We simply drop out of the race.

Thad tried to bring this topic up with his last girlfriend. He pointed out to her how the main character always loses something in a movie. Simba lost his dad. Once his dad was gone, the whole Pride was lost. The land went to hell, food was scarce, and all the colors turned dark and bloody. Nemo loses his mom before he is even born. Then he is raised by a father who doesn’t believe in him. His father almost has the poor boy convinced that he can’t swim, breathe, or eat without his dad by his side. Every movie they watched together he would point this theme out. Even in the chick flicks she tried getting him to watch. Especially in the chick flicks. 

It wasn’t long before he also lost his girlfriend. 

She told him he had a dark side. Whatever that means. 

Maybe he needs Saint Jude. If only he could find that pendant his grandmother wore. Maybe that would help him to remember. This is why Thaddeus was presently sitting on the floor of his closet. He is surrounded by sneakers and shoes of various colors and age. Some have been worn out to impress and some are simply worn out and ready to be tossed into the recycling bin. He couldn’t remember the last time he wore the pair of black dress shoes he found tucked into the back corner. They were probably from a wedding or a funeral, he guessed. On the floor were also a few random t-shirts tossed in to be the laundry but missed the basket. He found his college diploma tucked into a corner, behind a pile of sweatshirts and sweatsocks. 

His mom would be so pissed to see how much laundry he had piled up right now. He could picture her, all five feet six inches of her, hands on her hips glaring up at his six foot frame. She would have the mom's furrowed eyebrow look on him, but along with the hint of a smile on her lips that let him know she still loved him no matter what he did or said. It was that sideways smile that always gave him that just out of the dryer warm blanket feeling. He’s not such a lost cause; he has laundry and knows how to do it. He just chooses not to do it right now. 

The last time he saw his mom, she had lost so much weight she was just a shadow of herself. At one hundred and fifteen pounds he was afraid a stiff wind would blow her away. He didn’t want to hug her too tightly for fear of breaking her brittle bones in her tiny frame. She felt so fragile and helpless in his arms after the loss of her husband of thirty years. He still couldn’t believe his dad was gone. And yet his mom was comforting him. She was giving him hugs and loving gestures. She was asking him if he was eating properly and getting enough sleep. 

He rocked back on his heels and stood back up. He decided he wasn’t going to find what he was looking for inside the closet. Just then his pocket buzzed. Or rather, his cell phone inside his pocket buzzed. One glance at the screen and he groaned, it was his cousin, Simon. An image of Simon popped into his head as he slid the screen to answer the call. Poor Simon, his forehead got bigger every time Thad saw him. Either that or his eyebrows were running away from his hairline. It wasn’t much longer that Thad would be able to deny Simon’s desperate queries about his receding hairline. No one wants to go bald in their twenties. Or ever. 

“Thad, have you found…” 

“No, I haven’t found. Don’t you think I would have called you if I had found. Jesus. You calling me every five fucking minutes isn’t helping.”

“This is the first time I’ve called in, like, all day, or maybe an hour.”

“You know Grandma might say to start praying to your patron saint.”

“You think I’m a lost cause.”

“Not you. The situation. Try Saint Jude, Thaddeus.”

“You gotta be shitting me. It’s not a lost cause. I’ve just…got a lot on my plate right now and it’s all…”

“It’s Jude or Anthony, take your pick bro.” Simon chuckled, and Thad responded with a small harrumph. 

“Fine. Right. You’re right. Something is lost and cannot be found. Help me to look all around. Saint ANTHONY help me, along with Saint Jude. There. Happy?”

Simon slowly replied, “Not sure if the saints respond kindly to sarcasm or not…they may not like your tone…”

“Well, they get what they get at this point. I’m a desperate lost cause who really needs to find what was lost or your mom and my mom are going to totally freak out at the memorial this afternoon.”

“Dude,” Simon said. “Maybe you should have taken better care of your dad’s urn.” 

“It’s not the urn that I lost, it’s the ashes that were inside.”