Courtesy of Katharine Horgan
This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Katharine Horgan. It has been edited for length and clarity.
I was nearly at my office in London when I looked down and couldn't see the locket I had been wearing around my neck.
I panicked, lifting up my top in the middle of the street, thinking it had dropped into my bra. Tears were running down my face as I saw people looking at me, wondering what was going on.
It wasn't just any locket that I'd lost. My mom, who died of cancer when I was 7, had left the locket for me.
Mom was diagnosed with cancer when I was 18 months old. They gave her five years to live.
For the years she had left, she made beautiful memories with me. I remember getting my ears pierced when I was 5. It was one of the few girly things she'd be able to do with me. She knew she would miss me starting my period and all the other things that come with becoming a woman. She got some slack for it from my aunties, with them saying I was too young to have my ears pierced. But it was purposeful — she knew she wanted me to remember doing it with her.
She'd written cards for me to be delivered on each birthday until I turned 21. There was a memory box for me too, with a special message from her.
During her time at home, while I was in school, she'd work on tapestries and paintings that she'd later pass on to me.
Without my knowing, she'd curated a jewelry box for me to be given to me by my dad when I was 18. Some of the jewelry had labels. There was a ring that was clearly never worn, which she said was an anniversary gift from Dad that she hadn't had the chance to wear, and she hoped I was able to wear it.
The locket was among the jewelry. It wasn't labeled, and I don't know where she got it. But it has been precious to me since I had it.
She imprinted herself on me so strongly that there has never been a single day that I haven't tangibly had a mother. Even though she's not been alive for 23 years, I still feel her with me because of the way she so strategically left parts of her with me.
I've chosen to live in London, where I can walk along streets her feet have touched. The cards, the jewelry, the memory box, the art — all of it makes me feel connected to Mom, even though she isn't here.
And then I lost her locket. Inside the locket, there were chocolate wrappers she'd crunched up, not photos of her beloved family, which makes me laugh. She had once touched and worn that locket, and the thought of not having it at that moment when I realized it was gone was incredibly upsetting.
The idea of losing more of her when I had already lost her was incredibly upsetting.
While I was walking to work, I remember hearing something "clink" on the ground. It sounded like a bottle cap, but perhaps it was the locket?
Even though I was nearly at work, I decided to retrace my steps. I asked a friend to meet me to help me look for it, and I posted a message on social media, hoping someone would find it and return it to me.
As I walked, I glared at the ground, desperately looking for it. My friend and I couldn't find it on the ground anywhere.
I thought I would go to a café near where I had heard that clinking sound. I asked one of the guys working if someone had handed a locket in. He said no. But then another guy who worked there came in. When we asked him if he had seen it, he pulled it out of his pocket and said something had been handed in.
It was my locket. My mom's locket.
I burst into tears and completely freaked the two workers out. I just kept telling them, "Thank you!"
The whole thing reminded me that there are nice people around, people who want to do the right thing.
I've bought a new chain for the locket now and will keep it close to me forever, especially after this incident.
I don't have her yearly cards anymore, but putting on her locket and spraying my neck with her perfume grounds me, reminds me of her, and connects me to her.
