Missing

This weekend I am headed to San Francisco for a memorial for my grandfather who passed away 3 years ago. At the time my grandmother was to ill to hold a memorial. Now, just after her 90th birthday, she is finally able to do so. Three years ago I would have been distraught at the idea of attending the memorial, but I've done my grieving and am looking forward to spending a weekend with my family reflecting on my grandfather's life, celebrating my grandmother's good health, and in general enjoying beautiful scenery and time with my family.

The only problem is that we are each expected to say something at the memorial. I intended to read a short "essay" I wrote in sixth grade about why my grandfather is my hero. Before he died three years ago I reread it to him and then tucked it away in some secret spot in my office. I have spent the entire morning searching through every item that I have ferreted away over the years and am stumped. I have found all sorts of random crap: my photo id from studying abroad in 2001, old love notes, my husband's photo id from his first job, a crisp one dollar bill from 2007, a savings bond, a letter I wrote an old friend in a fit of anger and didn't mail, pay stubs from 5 years ago, my husband's little league playing card (so cute), a stack of movie stubs from the first year my husband and I dated, a certificate to prove I went hot air ballooning . . . these are the more interesting things, I also found stacks of old student loan documents and receipts. Generally, I found every trinket and memento from the last 8 years except the one I want. The only good thing so far is the giant pile of junk I made to throw away (not counting many of the things I listed those will be returned to their hiding places not to be looked at for another 5 years).