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
Chocolate
My boyfriend gave me a small teddy bear for our 2 year anniversary. I LOVE it! We're over 200 miles apart and so I never get to see him or hug him or even get lost in his scent. He snuggled with the bear every night and sent it to me, I suppose so that I could have something to cuddle with at night that would comfort me and remind me of him more. Or maybe he just knew how much I love stuffed animals. I don't know. I know my nickname from him is teddybear (that's why my username is teddybear9979) and I love it.
The bear has lost his scent, which I am not happy about but it smells like chocolate, it did when he bought it. It was one of those valentines day gifts... But I still cuddle with it. I occasionally think of sending it back for him to snuggle for a while so that it'll get his scent again but.... I sleep with it every night, and whenever I cry, I hold it against my chest and/or bury my face in the top of it's head, to the best of my ability. Often, I'll have it sitting in my lap as well. I don't think I could part with it for so long, not without getting sad.
It has meant so much to me as it came from him and was one of the first things I ever got from him because of the distance between us.
Although I got it the day before our anniversary. We were able to facetime when I opened it. I remember the moment I held it in my hands, my exact thought was "I want to cry! Oh my gosh! Is this some affectionate pun or something?!" Which ironically he'd sent me the CUTEST card ever that had a pun! I LOVE the card too. It had a cute little piggy on it! And while I was trying not to cry and busy going through the box, taking it all in and relishing in his scent, I forgot we were facetiming and I almost, (ALMOST) did cry, until I remembered, we were facetiming.
Can you guess the bear's name? Check the title and you'll know.
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.
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.
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.
