Being Lost
By Brenda Bowen Wright, Jan 2019
I was very young, therefore being lost may be my earliest memory. And, it is probably why today, over sixty years later, I carry a great fondness for store mirrors.
There are three years between us three oldest siblings. If I was three years old, my older brother was six, and my mother would have had an infant in her arms. I don’t recall any younger sibling at all at this event, so that puts me between two and three years old. If Mom were holding a baby or just very pregnant, maybe that would account for why no one was holding my hand. Maybe my older brother was supposed to be watching me, I don’t know. I know my older brother and both my parents and I, at the least us four, all went together to the vast, modern Sears Store on 800 South State Street in Salt Lake City. This had to be in the mid-1950s.
I remember the terrifying vision of so many people squeezed into such a large place. People were bumping into each other and pressing to get passed others. The sea of people flowed all around me. From my point of view, all I saw and felt were the paddling of millions of legs. The chorus of voices became just noise as I couldn’t tell what anyone, in particular, was saying. Incredible things to stare at and wonder about were everywhere. I even remember the brightness of the store lights, seemingly brighter than outside. The entire store experience was a massive sensory overload for me.
I can’t really remember what happened but I just suddenly looked around and realized I did not see one familiar face. Not a familiar sight anywhere. I absolutely had no idea what to do or where to go. But there, right next to me was a floor length mirror and I could see myself. I remember the relief flood through me in seeing a familiar face inside the mirror—my own face. I’m not too sure I even knew the concept of a mirror when I found this life buoy in the store.
I sat down in front of the mirror and leaned in very close so I could put my cheek on my reflection’s cheek. There I sat, all bunched up so as not to be stepped on and I cried and cried. I remember looking at my crying reflection and being entertained strangely by it. I honestly figured I would never see my parents or my big brother ever again. I had not a moment’s thought of what to do, that was beyond my capacity to even consider. All I could do was cry and stare at myself.
I often wonder how long I sat lost and heart-sick over the loss of parents and brother. Of course, to me, it seemed forever. But, how long was it actually before one of them realized I was no longer with them? I will probably never know the actual truth as the only answer I got from my parents in later years was the usual, “It wasn’t long at all.” And then they never wanted to talk about it, just swept it under the rug as inconsequential. But it was a huge deal to me and I apparently never forgot the experience.
I have accepted that my parents were not the soft, touchy-feely kind. They never indulged in any overt display of affection between themselves or any of their children. Maybe that was just the way parents were in the 1950s. But seriously, why was I not holding a parent’s hand?
With my own experience of being around nieces, nephews and friend’s children, I have felt and seen the extreme panic a parent goes through when they can’t spot their child.
I guess I would like to think my Mom and Dad were upset and scared when I went missing. It would have been comforting through all these years, to know they panicked and feared the loss of a treasured daughter.
But whatever the truth may be, I did eventually feel the gentle lifting as my father picked me up from in front of the mirror. I don’t remember a kiss or any comforting. But, it is the only memory I have of being carried by a parent. Soon I was set back on my own feet with the indelibly warning to stay close, or I would get lost again.
Believe me, I never became lost again, and I grew to become an extreme worry-wart over keeping track of my younger siblings and then my nieces and nephews. It even became a personal hell for me to have to be responsible for classes of students on field trips. I have an obsession with knowing where everyone is at every moment to an obnoxious point.
Thinking about losing people makes me anxious. That subject still headlines in my occasional nightmares.
I heard the Sears store on 8th South and State Street is slated to be torn down if it hasn’t been already. I hated that store and would not enter it for many, many years. My husband made me go into it, back in the 1980s, just to see if it still looked and felt the same. It did.
Although I never liked that particular department store, I still retain a fondness for each and every mirror I see in a store, especially full-length ones. I always find myself seeking the location of store mirrors, and I still feel comforted when I look into a mirror to see at least one familiar face staring back at me.
There are three years between us three oldest siblings. If I was three years old, my older brother was six, and my mother would have had an infant in her arms. I don’t recall any younger sibling at all at this event, so that puts me between two and three years old. If Mom were holding a baby or just very pregnant, maybe that would account for why no one was holding my hand. Maybe my older brother was supposed to be watching me, I don’t know. I know my older brother and both my parents and I, at the least us four, all went together to the vast, modern Sears Store on 800 South State Street in Salt Lake City. This had to be in the mid-1950s.
I remember the terrifying vision of so many people squeezed into such a large place. People were bumping into each other and pressing to get passed others. The sea of people flowed all around me. From my point of view, all I saw and felt were the paddling of millions of legs. The chorus of voices became just noise as I couldn’t tell what anyone, in particular, was saying. Incredible things to stare at and wonder about were everywhere. I even remember the brightness of the store lights, seemingly brighter than outside. The entire store experience was a massive sensory overload for me.
I can’t really remember what happened but I just suddenly looked around and realized I did not see one familiar face. Not a familiar sight anywhere. I absolutely had no idea what to do or where to go. But there, right next to me was a floor length mirror and I could see myself. I remember the relief flood through me in seeing a familiar face inside the mirror—my own face. I’m not too sure I even knew the concept of a mirror when I found this life buoy in the store.
I sat down in front of the mirror and leaned in very close so I could put my cheek on my reflection’s cheek. There I sat, all bunched up so as not to be stepped on and I cried and cried. I remember looking at my crying reflection and being entertained strangely by it. I honestly figured I would never see my parents or my big brother ever again. I had not a moment’s thought of what to do, that was beyond my capacity to even consider. All I could do was cry and stare at myself.
I often wonder how long I sat lost and heart-sick over the loss of parents and brother. Of course, to me, it seemed forever. But, how long was it actually before one of them realized I was no longer with them? I will probably never know the actual truth as the only answer I got from my parents in later years was the usual, “It wasn’t long at all.” And then they never wanted to talk about it, just swept it under the rug as inconsequential. But it was a huge deal to me and I apparently never forgot the experience.
I have accepted that my parents were not the soft, touchy-feely kind. They never indulged in any overt display of affection between themselves or any of their children. Maybe that was just the way parents were in the 1950s. But seriously, why was I not holding a parent’s hand?
With my own experience of being around nieces, nephews and friend’s children, I have felt and seen the extreme panic a parent goes through when they can’t spot their child.
I guess I would like to think my Mom and Dad were upset and scared when I went missing. It would have been comforting through all these years, to know they panicked and feared the loss of a treasured daughter.
But whatever the truth may be, I did eventually feel the gentle lifting as my father picked me up from in front of the mirror. I don’t remember a kiss or any comforting. But, it is the only memory I have of being carried by a parent. Soon I was set back on my own feet with the indelibly warning to stay close, or I would get lost again.
Believe me, I never became lost again, and I grew to become an extreme worry-wart over keeping track of my younger siblings and then my nieces and nephews. It even became a personal hell for me to have to be responsible for classes of students on field trips. I have an obsession with knowing where everyone is at every moment to an obnoxious point.
Thinking about losing people makes me anxious. That subject still headlines in my occasional nightmares.
I heard the Sears store on 8th South and State Street is slated to be torn down if it hasn’t been already. I hated that store and would not enter it for many, many years. My husband made me go into it, back in the 1980s, just to see if it still looked and felt the same. It did.
Although I never liked that particular department store, I still retain a fondness for each and every mirror I see in a store, especially full-length ones. I always find myself seeking the location of store mirrors, and I still feel comforted when I look into a mirror to see at least one familiar face staring back at me.
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