“Pick me, pick me,” a small voice pleaded from the middle of a toy store aisle filled with stuffed teddy bears of every imaginable size, shape, and color. Navy blue, magenta, polka dot, striped, life-size, battery operated, even ones with giant fairy wings. And then, there he was, almost hidden, deep inside the center on the lowest shelf. Only his small white paw stuck out like he had finally found the one person he was looking for -- the one who would take him to his rightful home.
“Pick me,” the teddy bear said again. This has to be the one. Only, there wasn’t anything really fancy about the bear. No elaborate jewels, no tulle, fluff, ribbons, or lace. Not even an expensive price tag with an important name. It was just a plain white teddy bear. Not tiny, but not big either. It was just something simple that just needed to be loved and taken care of. An innocent thing, much like the newborn baby that would be coming home from the hospital any day. “Pick me,” he whispered, softly this time, knowing the man had seen him.
It has to be the one, the man thought to himself as he stood in line, purchased the bear, and then rushed home. He set the bear in the rocking chair in the nursery and when his daughter was old enough, he placed the teddy in the crib next to her while she slept. The rest, as they say, was history. Like fairy tales and stories of happily-ever-after, the little girl and the teddy bear have been bound together ever since.
That is how the story goes. The one we have told Livi countless times over the past decade of how her Dad found Teddy and brought him home. She’s old enough now not to believe in talking teddy bears, but she still loves the story. Just like Teddy, it has taken on a sort of magic all its own.
For the past ten years, Teddy has always been there for her, even at times when I couldn’t be. He’s been there through the scary stuff: the bad dreams, a broken arm, the first plane ride, long car trips, doctor visits, and the flu. He’s been through all the good stuff too: Christmases, birthdays, bike rides, camp outs, sleepovers, and movie nights.
Yes, you might say he’s been through a lot. And he has, to be loved like that.
He’s been washed, bleached, patched, re-stuffed, stitched up and glued. But he has helped heal her, too. He’s helped fix those hurts that can happen to a child: the tears, the broken heart, the skinned knees, the anxiety and the fears.
It’s true she doesn’t carry him around everywhere like she once did. After all, she’s growing up. She just turned ten, too.
Some people would call Teddy a transitional object. Something she’s held onto to ease her separation from her parents as she grows older and more into herself. Only, I think it means a lot more than that. See, it can’t be that simple. He’s not just an object. I could never imagine him not being a part of her life, something she discards once she is done.
As Teddy is the whole world to Livi, just as my children are to me. They are what I hold dear while trying to make sense of senseless things. They are what I celebrate every day for all the blessings, and lessons, and love they have given me. I will never be able to articulate or put into 900 words or less how much they mean to me. I couldn’t imagine them not being a part of my life. I am just lucky to be able to love them.
Maybe that’s what it’s all about . . . being able to love something, or someone, so much it seems . . . well, magical. And maybe, like Livi and her bear, some things are simply destined, meant to be.
Happy 10th Birthday to Livi and Teddy, and Happy New Year to all of you. I sincerely hope your year will be full of magic and wonder, held up and filled, like Teddy, with a whole lot of love.
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