My little Sam has a best friend named Bear. He used to be Mr. Bear, now he’s just Bear. Everyone who knows Sam, knows Bear. They are BFF’s. Whenever Sam is scared or excited or just sleepy, he has his Bear. He would doze off at night tucked snug with Bear, rubbing the soft worn tag on Bear’s behind to soothe himself to sleep.
But, lately, I’ve noticed Bear on the kitchen floor, or under the dining room table, or yikes! left at Grandma’s. And Sam is OK, oblivious that his BFF is MIA. And that hurts my heart. My little man is growing up. It’s the little things we see that open our eyes wider to the obvious. The baby talk stops, the chubby cheeks thin out, the knee scrapes are just knee scrapes and not shattering cracks in the Earth’s hemisphere.
Look at Bear. Sometimes I feel sorry for him, that soft, dirty yellow plush toy. His right pupil is rubbed off, the words on his tag worn away with love. His light red ribbon mouth is also thin and raveling. But the memories he gives me bring my little baby Sam back. The things those two friends went through together; I could write volumes.
What object is sentimental to you or a loved one? How can holding or smelling or touching that object conjure up memories of past or stories for the future?
I’m hoping in the new year, I will write more about “Little Things” and how they inspire us all.