When I was a little girl, I had a teddy bear. It was brown and a "he-bear". He had black eyes, brown, bumpy fur, a beige-ish snout with a plastic black nose piece on the end.
I don't know when I first got him; I just always had him. I slept with that bear even when I went off to college. I couldn't leave him behind. He was my confidante when I couldn't talk to anybody else. He heard all of the screaming, the fighting, the gun play and the cries. He heard the shouts and sibling rivalry. He knew that I didn't want her to get my blue teddy bear pantsuit even though I'd grown out of it already and it would fit her perfectly.
He knew that I was scared.
And he knew when I was in love.
As I said, he went off to college with me, but somewhere along the way after I got married, he ended up with lots of our things in storage. After we were settled in our own home, we went to collect our things from storage. The storage building and all of its contents were stolen and I never saw my teddy bear again. Gone was my childhood best friend and confidante. Gone was what was left of my childhood.
The last time that I saw Teddy, before he disappeared, the black was worn off of his eyes, all the fur was gone from his snout, and his poor body was thread-bare and frail. I had loved him to pieces. Still do.
Tell me about the heart-holder of your childhood. Who did you whisper your hopes and fears to in the darkness of the night?
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