Something to hold
Dad is dying,
Mum forgeting,
my sister and I go, to move them to a home,
we pack all their stuff, efficient, brusque
cardboard coffins stuffed with paper and memories,
black garbage bags dumped in the charity bin,
books donated cruelly, like orphans by
unfeeling aunts, who turn and leave, releaved to be rid of them
then my sister finds a Bear, an old beat up thing with ratty matted fur and a broken
button on one eye, and now she is no longer
my ally, she becomes like my parents, emotional
confused, very childlike, full of tears
the tattered bear has a name,
as silly as his felt pink tonguse
she pets him, hugs him
reminds him of days
that smelled of cut grass
that sang like a Red Robin
that laughed like a little girl
that kissed like a mother.
she can’t recall his name
but somehow Mum
who can no longer find the mailbox
knows his name is Freddy Bear
And then she finds my Eddy Bear
and we laugh in the kitchen
and I remember who my parents were
and hug who they are now tightly, regretfully
The Plush Army
I slept alone a lot as a kid. Being an only child for seven years, with a single mom for at least five of them, I don't have a lot of memories sleeping in a shared room. I have more memories of laying awake at night trying to sleep as shadows swirled around my room in the moonlight.
Like most kids, I didn't like the dark. I had a vivid imagination and I could think of all kinds of fantastical monsters that lived in it. Yet I had a stubborn independence streak; I couldn't go crawling to mom so instead I took a tactical approach.
I assembled a plush army.
Every night, as I climbed into bed, I created a stuffed wall around myself. It started with my first and favorite teddy bear, but a general alone does no good. We recruited stuffed dogs, a Glow-worm, stuffed snakes (I started to choose animals who represented what I thought of as "natural" monsters - all the better to fight against the imaginary ones) and a few more bears. My ritual each night involved making sure they got tucked in around me. I usually did this myself, although occassionally my grandma or ma would help, with a soft chuckle at my horde.
Eventually I realized the stuffed army couldn't replace my real-life support network. Yet good soldiers never die; I kept them all. While I no longer needed them to stand guard at night, I retired them to shelves in my room in places of honor. A few I donated to smaller kids I knew, when I recognized the need for a trustworthy stuff-for-hire. The rest still live with me, carefully tucked away but always prepared for battle.
As a joke for my 20th birthday, my mother got me a giant bear that looked just like my original general - just three times the size. She smiled. "Well, I figured you were bigger so you'd need a bigger bear." It still sits on a table in my bedroom as a tribute to the plushes that kept a small child safe.
My partner laughted at it once when we first moved in together; the death glare I gave quickly ended all future jokes on the matter.
You do not ridicule the honor of teddy bears.
They have fought the darkness for much longer than you.
As I Grow
Teddy bear is such
a strange bedfellow
an oddity in reality
so much like me
two eyes,
a nose,
a mouth
stitched closed
in the silent
screams
of infancy
I hold you
close
by darkest light
and bare the soul
even now
when I cannot
speak a word
I can still
hold
Life's hope
07.19.2020
Write about a teddy bear. What is its significance? challenge @Isabellamb
Liolyn.
My "teddy bear" was a lion. I've had him since I was two. I cut his mane thinking it would grow back. It didn't. I used to give him baths and brush him until he was fluffy and bushy, apart from the back of his head that was bald.
I slept with him every night until I became a child bride at the age of 18, and my husband wouldn't let me. I packed him away through tears. I would wait until my husband went to work, and I would sneak into the box where Liolyn lay, and I would take him out and sniff him.
When I left my husband, ten years later, I left the country. I left everything behind. I trusted him to send me my childhood best friend. He threw him out. He never cared.
Ted E. Bear
For some reason, the blaring alarm didn't wake me. I was woken by my mother screaming my name and saying we needed to "get out now."
Down the stairs. Past the playroom ablaze. Out the front door. Into the street.
Orange flames shot sideways out of the house, the conflagaration blinding and bewildering. A thick fog enveloped my mind, my bare feet numb on the pavement, my fingers locked around Ted E. Bear's soft paw.
My parents didn't let me watch for long.
Inside the safety of my neighbors house, the groginess subsided, and I realized that my teddy bear was the only material item I had left, that any of us had left for that matter.
My Teddy Bear
As a little kid, I loved my teddy bear. I brought it with me everywhere. I brought it on countless camping trips, sleepovers, and summer camp. In my teens, I forgot all about it and lost him in my early 20s. Then I started having kids of my own. As I was looking for something else. I accidentally found him buried beneath some boxes, my koala teddy bear. So, I gave him to my daughter. 3 years later it is still her favourite stuffy. She named it Daddy stuffy.
Silent Protector
As you hid under covers as a child, the creature, be it doll, animal, or something else, lay with you, comforting you from unseen monsters lurking in closets, shadows and beneath you.
Prehaps it was a playmate, an audience member or a daring character in stories made in the summer sun, coming to life with the sparks of a young imagination, a close friend, prehaps the closest.
You could tell it/them/her/him anything, and looking at the object clutched in your grasp, feel safe. You could joke, cry, simply babble, and there it was to patiently listen.
Even if there were a hundred different toys in your space or room, this one was the best, somehow, with holes, often repaired, with stains, left after many scrubbings, with the panicked search when it was misplaced, left behind, or forgotton, the wave of pure relief and happiness when it was found again.
As a child, growing up, the protector and friend was set aside for new adventures, but never quite forgotten.
Prehaps it is still picked up and clutched tightly during darkest nights, protecting from all the things that grow with age, lurking not only behind doors and underneath beds, but within the depths of the mind.
But no matter what, the silent protector, be it bear, sheep, doll, bird, or anything else, still holds a silent watch over our happiest memories and vulnerable times, now hidden in the fabrics of time forevermore.