There are few terrors worse that the feeling that you’ve lost someone you love.

This much was clear to me on that summer night in 2008. From my perch in the passenger seat, I scanned the sidewalks as best I could, reminding myself to breathe. Everyone was looking, even the police. We’d find her.

But we didn’t know that, really. Cassandra* had wandered away in the late afternoon, and now it was night.

Aileen, my friend and fellow L’Arche** assistant, was in the driver’s seat. She had to focus on piloting the van, but I could tell that she was just as frantic as I was, if not more so. After all, Aileen was Cassandra’s one-on-one accompanier. They shared a special bond.

We drove around for a long time before we got the call: She’s all right. Jonathan [another assistant] found her. Aileen and I raced home.

And the sight of Cassandra, sitting at the kitchen table — it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Heedless of the policemen in the background, I ran over, knelt down, and wrapped her in my arms. She hugged me back, squeezing tight. I don’t know what I said; I was incoherent with relief.

But I do remember what Aileen said, when I stepped back to let her hold Cassandra. They clung to each another; Aileen was half-laughing and half-crying. She sounded like a mother whose child has just been returned to her arms. She said, “God, you’re home, you’re home. Don’t you ever do that to us again, Cassandra, you hear me? You scared us to death! We love you. I love you.”


Return of the Prodigal Son, Rembrandt

Return of the Prodigal Son, Rembrandt

Hearing Aileen’s words, I glanced at the picture hanging just above her. It was a reproduction of Rembrandt’s The Return of the Prodigal Son. It depicts the scene in Jesus’ parable when the lost son returns at last. And the father says, “Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”

The elder brother protests; why waste a good celebration on an undeserving brother? But the father repeats, “… We [have] to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”

When I saw Cassandra that day, I realized: the father’s not just saying these words for his elder son’s benefit.

He’s saying them in the same way that Aileen and I kept repeating, “You’re home, you’re safe …” because he can’t help it. Because he needs to hear them, to hear aloud that the nightmare of loss is over.  

And then I turned and saw Jonathan standing alone. (We’d only just met, and I was completely intimidated by him. I had no idea that someday, we’d be married.) In all the uproar, he was quiet, solitary. He’d found Cassandra, but he wasn’t making her return ‘about him’ at all.

Without thinking, I crossed the room and stepped into his arms for the first time. “Thank you, thank you for finding her and bringing her home,” I said.


Sometimes I think that our real (metaphorical) work is to search down dark streets until we find one another.

We all run away from home, away from each other. We all make choices that separate us from real relationship. Perhaps not in the obvious ways, but in the small things: we don’t tell the truth, answer the phone, or show that we care. We’re afraid, so we hide our hearts.

An afternoon tea celebration

An afternoon tea celebration

But what if we let ourselves be found? What if we acknowledged that we have all been both the fearful runaway and the forgiving father? That we know what it is to bolt and stumble and lose our way, and that we also know what it is to be the one standing by, waiting and praying?

And what if we put aside our pride and celebrated whenever we do reunite?

If we did, perhaps something like this would happen …

Soon after Cassandra came home, Aileen transitioned out of her role at L’Arche. On her final night, we took turns sharing what we loved about Aileen, and how we would miss her. When it was Cassandra’s turn, she looked at Aileen with gentleness in her gaze.

She was silent for a long time, so we asked, “What do you love about Aileen, Cassandra?”

And Cassandra said, simply, “She’s my little child.”


How have you been ‘lost and found’? Join the conversation in the comments!

**L’Arche is a faith-based non-profit that creates homes where people with and without intellectual disabilities share life together. I spent 5 years serving the DC community in various caregiving roles.

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  1. Mary February 18, 2013 at 3:16 PM - Reply

    Oh man, I remember that night, especially since I’m the one that lost her. It was only 3 hours she was gone, but what an eternity. In a thunderstorm no less. I still have nightmares about it. No joke- two nights ago I dreamt that we were on a train together in London, and I got distracted looking out the window. I realized that she’d gotten off one stop before I did. It was heart wrenching. Sometimes it’s a relief to wake up and realize that Jonathan saved the day in real life. For the record, ever since that night Jonathan can do no wrong in my eyes. Thank God for him.

    You know the funny thing? When I need to run away, I run to Cassandra. With my head in her lap, she becomes my mother- the warm, gentle presence of acceptance and love no matter what.

    • Caroline McGraw February 18, 2013 at 4:18 PM - Reply

      Oh my dear Mary, I wish I could give you a hug! You are an amazing caregiver and friend (and it totally could have happened when any of us were sharing time). It was, indeed, an eternity, one I’m so thankful came to an end. 😉

      And I love that beautiful image of you running to her, and her mothering you. <3

  2. Camille Bennett February 18, 2013 at 7:47 PM - Reply

    I was lost at age 13. I was rebellious, troubled and confused. I lived in Virginia Beach at the time …my father who is now deceased… made an executive decision and decided to move to his hometown which is the Shoals area of Alabama. I immediately started to shift. I met the women who are still some of my best friends, I was a happy, care-free kid again. So I guess…my father’s decision, my mother’s compliance, the Shoals and the guidance of God helped me find my way again.

    • Caroline McGraw February 18, 2013 at 8:10 PM - Reply

      Thank you so much for sharing, Camille! I appreciate hearing this piece of your story.
      And I, for one, am so glad you are where you are and do what you do. 🙂

  3. vicki goldston February 18, 2013 at 8:34 PM - Reply

    thank you, caroline, for this story and insight on connection.

    lost and found for me means the ever unfolding of spirit. throughout my life i have been moved to get over the self i thought i was — to LOSE the unhealthy expression of my ego. in return, i have FOUND a renewal of self, which is the TRUTH of me. my EXPANSION AND GROWTH requires me to stay in the flow of this process, which never ends — to be AWARE of the lost and found within me.

    • Caroline McGraw February 18, 2013 at 8:38 PM - Reply

      Oh, I like that! What a lovely interpretation, Vicki. Thank you!

  4. Kathy Gabriel February 19, 2013 at 1:14 PM - Reply

    Very timely ..
    Thanks you for making the familiar, strange … and then bringing it back home
    with light and insight and tenderness.

    Love the part about how you met your husband!
    Happy ending …

    • Caroline McGraw February 20, 2013 at 5:01 AM - Reply

      You are most welcome, Kathy! So glad you liked the post. And yes, a happy ending indeed. 🙂

  5. Megan February 19, 2013 at 3:12 PM - Reply

    Beautiful reflection… 🙂

  6. Brooke (Books Distilled) February 19, 2013 at 3:15 PM - Reply

    What a beautiful story! I’ve been thinking a lot about celebration lately–making sure I celebrate all the small moments in a day or week. How lovely that you could celebrate Cassandra’s return instead of only being angry.

    • Caroline McGraw February 20, 2013 at 5:03 AM - Reply

      Yes to celebration! I totally thought of you when I wrote that line. 😉

  7. Metod February 20, 2013 at 1:33 AM - Reply

    Oh Caroline…great timing of this post for me. I somehow feel lost these days…maybe because we are in the month of February and here in the Northen Hemisphere winter and short cold days can get under your skin. I can’t wait for Spring to renew the nature, but also give hope to our souls 🙂

    • Caroline McGraw February 20, 2013 at 5:04 AM - Reply

      February IS a tough month! So glad the post came at the right time for you, Metod. Here’s to the faithful coming of spring!

  8. Melissa Javier-Barry February 21, 2013 at 6:10 PM - Reply

    A beautiful reflection on this story. Thank you.

    • Caroline McGraw February 21, 2013 at 6:23 PM - Reply

      Thank you for the affirmation, Melissa! And happy, happy birthday to YOU! 🙂

  9. Joy February 24, 2013 at 5:31 PM - Reply

    So beautiful, thank you!

    Reading your words, I remember a few occasions of physical loss, and also the bigger picture moments of disconnect from source and how refreshing and relieving the moments of “found” are. In the last several years, I have been practicing presence, a cycle of ‘finding treasures in this moment’ and celebrating the fullness of the moment as it is. Remembering the pain of loss and how far removed I am from that pain, reminds me that “this too” (whatever we are in) shall pass, so to celebrate it all fully. A gift. Thank you!

    • Caroline McGraw February 25, 2013 at 3:42 PM - Reply

      And thank you for your lovely comment, Joy! I’m glad to connect with you here, and very much appreciate your practice of ‘finding treasures in the moment’. 🙂

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