Sweetie
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When I was born, my mom had a special teddy bear ordered for me that had the year of my birth. From that time on, I carried it around with me, until I became too old and was made fun of for my teddy bear. I had named it ‘Sweetie’ and we had some pretty great adventures together for the first ten years of my life.
Then, I turned ten and my friends that I would hang out with started to ask why I carried such a childish toy around. I stopped carrying the bear around, but secretly set it in my closet, so my friends wouldn’t find it when they came over. Between my tenth and twentieth birthday, my friends took precedence over ‘Sweetie.’
I was in my early twenties when I decided to move in with my boyfriend. Going through all of my old things, I came across ‘Sweetie’ and decided that she had been with me for twenty years now, so he should be able to stay with me for the next twenty. When twenty-five hit me, I had gotten married to that boyfriend and we had gotten a surplus of items from wedding gifts. We made the home office our storage room, so I decided that my teddy should stay in there, away from everyday life. I never held him or carried him around because I was busy with my new husband and finishing up law school.
My family was just coming together with two children of my own romping around the house and a new dog. Scared that one of the three new family members would try to mess with ‘Sweetie,’ I put her up on a high shelf in the storage room. Even when the children would enter the storage room “looking for trouble” they weren’t able to get up and reach my old bear. Occasionally, they would ask if I could let them play with ‘Sweetie,’ but I brushed it off with excuses. After all, it was my teddy bear, so I felt I should be the one to play with it.
When I hit my mid-forties, my young children had grow into teenagers, who wanted nothing to do with their mom anymore and just had the want to hang out with friends and be out of the house. The teddy was still on her shelf in the storage room; however, she was surrounded by cold, unloving boxes that held my children’s memories. The boxes had clothing, toys, and other things that my teenagers thought they’d like to look back on in the future or save for their future children.
My teenagers had grown into beautiful, young adults and soon moved out with their things packed up. Though the storage room was empty and I had time to play with my teddy, I was in my fifties and went through a mid-life crisis. I would rather play with motorcycles or take part in risky activities than play with a beat-up, old, lifeless teddy bear.
I turned sixty and felt that life had given me enough risks in my fifties to last me a lifetime, so that mid-life crisis quickly ended. My time had freed up, as I had retired from my job, but I quickly filled it with activity clubs for knitting, sewing, and church groups, so I still hadn’t had enough time to play with my teddy bear.
The teddy bear was becoming very lonely on a shelf, but I left it there in my seventies because I was very busy. All my friends had been dying around me and I had to fill the time paying respects to the dead, at both their graves and their funerals. My husband was aging quickly and passed soon after his seventy-ninth birthday.
As I turned eighty, I realized that I was all alone. None of my friends were alive and I had lost my one true love. The clubs I once held close to my heart had disbanded and “younger” members were joining. It seemed I was becoming too old to do much, I couldn’t join any clubs and all I could do was go for afternoon drives. It was quite alright to take in the nature, but it was very lonely. I thought back to my teddy bear days, and it wasn’t long before ‘Sweetie’ because a companion for me on my afternoon drives.
In my nineties, my sight had retrogressed, so my children found it best to take away my license. They only wanted to make sure I wouldn’t be hurt or hurt someone else in a motor vehicle crash. My afternoon rides were over, but that doesn’t mean my time with my teddy bear ended. I would sit in my house and watch television with ‘Sweetie.’ I was back to the point where the bear would go with me everywhere, often times in my walker basket. It was nice to have a friend, but it was still getting pretty lonely.
A few days before my hundredth birthday, I passed away peacefully in my sleep. ‘Sweetie’ was in my arms as I died. My children, deciding that my bear meant a lot for me, kept the bear rather than give it away to charity. Looking down on my children from heaven, I knew that this cycle would continue throughout another generation and hoped that my old bear would be passed on through generations. I wanted that bear to provide my family line with the comfort it did in my old days. I knew in my heart that this cycle was never ending and that I could leave my family in peace.
Then, I turned ten and my friends that I would hang out with started to ask why I carried such a childish toy around. I stopped carrying the bear around, but secretly set it in my closet, so my friends wouldn’t find it when they came over. Between my tenth and twentieth birthday, my friends took precedence over ‘Sweetie.’
I was in my early twenties when I decided to move in with my boyfriend. Going through all of my old things, I came across ‘Sweetie’ and decided that she had been with me for twenty years now, so he should be able to stay with me for the next twenty. When twenty-five hit me, I had gotten married to that boyfriend and we had gotten a surplus of items from wedding gifts. We made the home office our storage room, so I decided that my teddy should stay in there, away from everyday life. I never held him or carried him around because I was busy with my new husband and finishing up law school.
My family was just coming together with two children of my own romping around the house and a new dog. Scared that one of the three new family members would try to mess with ‘Sweetie,’ I put her up on a high shelf in the storage room. Even when the children would enter the storage room “looking for trouble” they weren’t able to get up and reach my old bear. Occasionally, they would ask if I could let them play with ‘Sweetie,’ but I brushed it off with excuses. After all, it was my teddy bear, so I felt I should be the one to play with it.
When I hit my mid-forties, my young children had grow into teenagers, who wanted nothing to do with their mom anymore and just had the want to hang out with friends and be out of the house. The teddy was still on her shelf in the storage room; however, she was surrounded by cold, unloving boxes that held my children’s memories. The boxes had clothing, toys, and other things that my teenagers thought they’d like to look back on in the future or save for their future children.
My teenagers had grown into beautiful, young adults and soon moved out with their things packed up. Though the storage room was empty and I had time to play with my teddy, I was in my fifties and went through a mid-life crisis. I would rather play with motorcycles or take part in risky activities than play with a beat-up, old, lifeless teddy bear.
I turned sixty and felt that life had given me enough risks in my fifties to last me a lifetime, so that mid-life crisis quickly ended. My time had freed up, as I had retired from my job, but I quickly filled it with activity clubs for knitting, sewing, and church groups, so I still hadn’t had enough time to play with my teddy bear.
The teddy bear was becoming very lonely on a shelf, but I left it there in my seventies because I was very busy. All my friends had been dying around me and I had to fill the time paying respects to the dead, at both their graves and their funerals. My husband was aging quickly and passed soon after his seventy-ninth birthday.
As I turned eighty, I realized that I was all alone. None of my friends were alive and I had lost my one true love. The clubs I once held close to my heart had disbanded and “younger” members were joining. It seemed I was becoming too old to do much, I couldn’t join any clubs and all I could do was go for afternoon drives. It was quite alright to take in the nature, but it was very lonely. I thought back to my teddy bear days, and it wasn’t long before ‘Sweetie’ because a companion for me on my afternoon drives.
In my nineties, my sight had retrogressed, so my children found it best to take away my license. They only wanted to make sure I wouldn’t be hurt or hurt someone else in a motor vehicle crash. My afternoon rides were over, but that doesn’t mean my time with my teddy bear ended. I would sit in my house and watch television with ‘Sweetie.’ I was back to the point where the bear would go with me everywhere, often times in my walker basket. It was nice to have a friend, but it was still getting pretty lonely.
A few days before my hundredth birthday, I passed away peacefully in my sleep. ‘Sweetie’ was in my arms as I died. My children, deciding that my bear meant a lot for me, kept the bear rather than give it away to charity. Looking down on my children from heaven, I knew that this cycle would continue throughout another generation and hoped that my old bear would be passed on through generations. I wanted that bear to provide my family line with the comfort it did in my old days. I knew in my heart that this cycle was never ending and that I could leave my family in peace.