The Eternal Lost and Found…

Dear Earthlings,

It’s me again. Yes, I’m still dead. Yes, the tae is still terrible. And no, Cher has not made an appearance yet, despite what the rumors say.

Today, I stumbled into one of the lesser-known corners of the afterlife: The Eternal Lost and Found. It’s basically a giant celestial warehouse where every sock, pair of reading glasses and the remote to your old VCR winds up. Honestly, it looks like a cross between a flea market and your grandma’s attic.

As I browsed the aisles – dodging a tumbleweed made entirely of lost hair ties, I started noticing a different category of lost things:

• Forgotten apologies.
• Unspoken I-love-you’s.
• Abandoned promises.
• Ghosted relationships (oh yes, even up here we track those!).

And wouldn’t you know it, sitting right there on a shelf labeled ‘Barely Used Moral Compasses‘, was a conscience belonging to Fannie McFox. Pristine condition. Practically still in the wrapper. The warranty card was even tucked inside. Right next to it was a dusty box labeled ‘Bully’s Empathy‘. Still sealed. No one’s quite sure if it was ever actually opened.

I asked the clerk, a very tired-looking St. Peter, if I could check these out and ship them express delivery back to Earth. He just sighed, pointed to a sign that read ‘Items May Only Be Claimed By Their Original Owner‘, and went back to reading a paperback titled ‘Families Behaving Badly: A Cautionary Tale‘.

You see, folks, communication isn’t just a polite suggestion when you’re alive – it’s the glue that holds families, friendships and posthumous to-do lists together. Especially when you’ve been handed the title of executor. That’s not just a fancy word scribbled in a will – it’s a responsibility. It means you’re the point guard of someone’s final wishes. You don’t get to run off the court the second the scoreboard turns off.

It means:

Calling the people you don’t feel like calling.
Having the conversations you’d rather dodge.
And maybe, just maybe – not ghosting your own sister while you’re busy polishing your public image for the neighbors.

Because here’s the secret no one likes to admit: those conversations you avoid? They don’t disappear. They wind up in places like this. Stored away with the lost wedding rings, the unsent birthday cards, the ‘meaning to reach out’ moments and every pair of reading glasses that ever slipped down behind a couch cushion.

Don’t let your kindness, decency or responsibilities end up in the Eternal Lost and Found. The people you leave behind notice. And trust me we do!

Anyway – gotta run. Fannie McFox’s conscience is starting to gather dust and someone just dropped off a box labeled ‘Lost Self-Awareness from 2020-2023′. Should be a long afternoon.

Until next time,
-Dad