My Children Are Missing

As many of you know, I lost two of my babies at Macao Trading Co. in the LES at one of my friends' birthday party two weeks ago.

Total damages were roughly $3,000 in camera equipment. My D750 body and my ultra-wide angle lens are now both gone forever. And you'd be surprised. The worst part isn't the money or the hassle and frustration at finding a replacement.

It's the little things. The things that made them yours and only yours.

It's the tiny dent on the bottom left corner only you two know about. The faded ISO button, third from the bottom. It's the chipped paint on the AE-lock from fumbling through the dark, giddy on your way to catch Fitz Roy bathed in the glow of a tangerine sunrise. The worn out straps, soft and supple like father's leather, from years of sleeping under stars and snuggling in the cold as you desperately tried to keep her batteries warm. 

It's three years of memories and laughs and near-death escapades. Often, just the two of you, not a soul for miles and miles and miles. 

My babies are now lost. My children are missing. And I'll never get them back, I know that. 

But I also know that moving on is only as hard as you make it. And so, I'm formally closing this chapter and beginning a new one.

I'll miss you, Delilah, wherever you may be right now. 

But it's time. Time to find you a baby brother.