When Dan and I were waiting for the last leg of our trip home from Italy (in the Chicago O'Hare Airport), he asked me if I had our camera. I said, "sure." When I went to grab it out of my purse, it wasn't there. A feeling of panic swept over me, then the tears came. I had out our new, Cannon Fine Pix camera on Air India's aged 747, the flight that was our transatlantic leg, taking photos of the wacky snacks we were served.
Dan tried to tell me there was a good chance we could get the camera back, especially if we told people it held our honeymoon photos. No avail, at least so far. Air India's representative assured me that two security sweeps found nothing on the plane. The Chicago Police Department that camps out at O'Hare didn't have anything turned into them either. The police sergeant said, "I bet you'd just be happy to get the card out of there, forget the camera." He's right. Hope is about gone.
We took 750-plus photos of the grandest vacation of our lives. The Colosseum, Roman Forum, Vatican Museum, Dumo, Ponte Vecchio, Pitti Palace, Grand Canal, St. Mark's in Venice and more... all the photographic memories are lost, at least for now. Maybe I'll muster up the energy to write about the trip, but for now, I'm a little too sad. Dan reminded me that it was still the greatest trip we've ever taken and that doesn't change just because we don't have pictures—and that the trip was for such a special occasion—but I'm not ready to deal with it just yet. I am reminded again of my clumsiness and why I shouldn't be trusted with nice things.