It was sad and tearful saying goodbye to our Florida family this morning, which included little Skylar Grace, our 16 month old, high-intensity granddaughter. They have been with us for two months, and their departure left a big void. Louisa and Birgitta also left this morning, heading back to Chicago to work, more goodbyes. Every time I turned around, I was crying again. Since Nate’s death, all goodbyes seem heartrending. By noon, though, it was time to get out of my PJs and do something.

I spent the better part of the day putting our house back in order. Hosting a big dinner always leaves things in disarray, even after the dishes have been done. The big pots and roasters have to be taken back to the basement. The 50-cup coffee maker goes down there, too, along with the 30-cup cider-brewer. Tablecloths have to be laundered, along with a massive bundle of dirty, wet dish towels and cloths. Fall decorations need to be gathered and boxed up until next year, and everyone is eager to pull out the Christmas boxes.

As part of cleaning the kitchen, I tried to return the many displaced items to their original storage places. It’s been a big treat having others maintain the kitchen for me on a steady basis over the last two months, but in the process, I lost track of quite a few items. I knew they were somewhere in the kitchen but couldn’t put my hands on them when needed.

One item in particular had slipped away without my noticing, and I missed it terribly. It was a small knife I’d taken from Mom’s kitchen utensil drawer after she died. We were cleaning out her cabinets and drawers when I came across her favorite knife. “It was my mother’s,” she’d told me one day, as she cored a tomato. “It’s as sharp as a razor and fits nicely in my hand.”

Somewhere along the way, the wooden handle had broken and been repaired by a Depression-Era husband. Its tiny nut and bolt stuck out like a wart on a beautiful face, but I absolutely loved that knife and used it constantly. It was still as sharp as a razor and cut well. I loved it most, though, because it was Mom’s and because she’d loved that it was her Mom’s. Every time I sliced an onion or peeled a potato I missed that knife.

In my heart I just knew someone had thrown it away. After all, it looked like a hunk of junk with its discolored blade and beat up handle. Although I’d asked every one of our kids, no one remembered using it or seeing it.

But… I was in for a sharp surprise. While rummaging through the knife drawer, I ran into a few big blades pushed so far back, they’d gotten stuck poking through the back of the drawer. While getting them unstuck with great difficulty, out popped my precious knife! It, too, had been stuck in the back. Seeing it again was like being reunited with a good friend. I squealed with delight (Linnea stared at me) and washed it carefully, removing it from the kitchen and nestling it into my dresser drawer until the day when I will operate solo in the kitchen. Although everything has changed as a result of Nate’s death, some things just need to stay the same.

“Suppose a woman has ten silver coins [or knives] and loses one. Does she not light a lamp, sweep the house, [dig in the drawers] and search carefully until she finds it? And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin [knife]’.” (Luke 15:8-9)