Comfort

I wanted nothing more than to be chosen, to be relieved of the constant pressure, day after day trying to impress—sitting up straight, arms by my side—only to be disappointed. 

I somehow didn't see you come in. Clouded by the strings of my thoughts, I was only awoken when everybody raised their voices to sing 'Happy Birthday'. I can sing too, I thought, but my voice wasn't ready yet. I stared at you, up on that counter with your number 7 badge. I've never had a birthday. Your grandmother caught my attention early on. She seemed caring, holding onto your ankles, keeping you in place. She looked at you as if you were a Prince. I wondered if that might be true. I didn't know what royalty was supposed to look like but I sure bet you felt like it up there, everyone focused on you while we all sat, anxiously waiting.

Your grandmother guided you by the hand. "Which one do you like?" she asked, her presence so calming I almost forgot the monumental importance of the situation. Of course I didn't know words like that back then, monumental, but that was another thing about your grandmother, everyone around her picked up little pieces of her wisdom. She was wise to tell you not to choose Rico. He was always mean to the rest of us, said we needed to develop 'thick skin' like his. You chose Leo, even knew his name somehow. I watched you as you stroked his hair, so proud that he had won. Until, for whatever reason, you looked across to me. I often think back to that moment and wonder if there was some kind of divine intervention, or was it something of your grandmother's influence. Either way, my good friend Leo was left upset that day when you put him back on the shelf, though I'm sure he was chosen soon after.

The following minutes were a blur as the staff asked you a series of important questions. The biggest of which being, what voice did you want to give me? You chose wisely. "The happy birthday song" you said. I sang that to you over and over until you fell asleep that night. 

That was the day I was chosen, and it became my birthday too. 

You brought me home with a smile spanning half your face and a twinkle in your eyes that reflected my image in your lap. I'd never seen myself before and was surprised to see two black patches around my eyes because I always got a good night's rest. At least they match my ears I thought. You propped me up against the window for a tour of the neighbourhood. "Down there is where Nanny lives.”, “That's the shops Ma buys the bread in.”, “That's the school I'm going to when I'm older.”…”and this is where we live." It's beautiful I thought. I wanted to reach out and hug you but you got there first, gripping me in your arms as you slid out the car door past your grandmother. I was nervous to meet your parents but they were so charming, saying nice things about my nose and my soft, white fur. Your father said something funny about my belly being big like his and that reminded you of what I could do. "Watch this," you said, "he can talk." I felt my stuffing move around as your fingers as they searched for my voice box. Then I sang.

Your parents couldn't take their eyes away from you, but I was the star of the show in your eyes, and you in mine. 

You dressed me for all occasions. Plucking my outfits out of the decorative cardboard wardrobe provided with my purchase. Your grandmother spoiled you that day, her eldest grandson, the apple of her eye. I never understood that phrase; nobody has apples in their eyes. But you passed those spoils on down to me. 

"Typical Irish weather" you used to say, delicately guiding my arms into the sleeves of my yellow nylon raincoat. And those little blue wellies; I always felt guilty not being able to help you squeeze my feet into those things. It wasn't easy for a kid your age to manipulate the shape of moulded plastic, but you somehow managed to get my paws in there time and time again, even if you did have to squeeze the stuffing up to my knees in order to do so. 

The summer was your favourite time. "No school, road trips in the car, a couple weeks of sun. What's not to like?" 

You would pop on my shorts and flamingo printed shirt, leaving the top button undone because that's how the big boys do it. My stitched nose was too small to hold your little brother's sunglasses on my face, and my ears were on top of my head so they were of no use. After several failed attempts to make them stay, your parents would tell you to give them back to your brother, who was crying for them anyway. I wish I could tell you how much I appreciated you shading my eyes anytime the sun got too bright between the clouds. I remember the visor you got me in a pet shop one day. Fit me perfectly you'd said. 

"Who needs a dog when you've got a panda." A panda who could truly appreciate the now complete summer ensemble. 

I missed you terribly when you went off to college. We hadn't hung out much in the years previous, you were mostly busy with your friends. But I was glad you had found your people. And you always had me on display, sitting proudly on my shelf. You never were embarrassed by me, even when you had girls over. You would maybe cover my eyes with something but that I understood...and appreciated. Still, "That's Teddy" you would tell anybody enquiring about my presence. Little did they know I was an adult myself by that point. Other teddy's came and went over the years but I always sat head of the table at the tea parties. Tea which none of us drank. I was Don Corleone and you were Francis Ford Coppola. If I hadn't heard you say "Smokers are jokers" so many times I'd have probably had a cigar in my mouth. Forgetting the fact it's fixed shut, I suppose.

When the time came for your mother to carry me off in a black sack filled with old clothes and toys, I knew where I was going. But I also knew I still had some song in me. I was complacent knowing I could give another kid comfort, maybe even joy.

I sat in that charity shop window for two days taking in the action of the side street. Wishing I could have said goodbye. Found myself thinking about your grandmother a lot during that time, how much influence she had on you in your younger days. Every older woman that passed that window had the potential to inject new meaning into my existence, but none of them had an aura quite like hers. I thought about the bear you once told me about, the one she kept on her bed, with the pretty pink bow that would sing to you when you stayed over. For a while after you first described her to me I wondered if our paths might be intertwined; two lyrical bears that brought ease to our owners. Pity we never got to formally meet. I don't see her here today. I hope she still sings. 

You never seemed like an owner to me, yet I owe you my heart. Quite literally, I mean you picked it out. And chose wisely. Another example of the leaked wisdom from your grandmother's presence I suppose.

I became numb to the sound of the bell as people came and went through that charity shop door. Lost in the strings of my thoughts, I hadn’t even realised I was picked up by the shoulders before being placed into a carrier bag. I didn’t need to see your shape through the plastic to know who it was.

"Enjoy your vacation?" you asked with a big fat smirk on your face soon as we got outside. Ha…Yeah, you never did let your mother live that whole thing down. She was only trying to give me a new life and I mean, you were too old to be hanging around with me anyway. But you never cared. Kept me on your desk in your college dorm, telling me all about your studies; made me the most educated bear in Dublin. You took me with you every time you moved into a new house then after that too. I was there somewhere, sitting up straight, part of the decor, no matter what opinions your housemates may have had. 

Your friends however, they were always good to me. Each of them lining up to dish out fist-bumps, anyone who didn’t was told off. It’s good to see a couple of their faces here today, though I guess, deep down, I knew most of them wouldn’t last. Friendship rarely survives a lifetime.

I wish everyone could hear me now, but my voice is gone. I'm still surprised I can even manage the series of crackles and squeaks that emanate from within. You can't say much against these batteries; twenty-odd years have passed now. I'll have to take comfort in believing you can hear me out there. Believing that while I sit, held tightly in your mother's arms, the comfort I bring her and she me is somehow transferred onto you. I don't know much about spirits—besides what your father once told me about whiskey—but I know you had a wonderful one.

As a child you had a smile so beautifully crooked, it made anyone appreciate the calf's lick sprouting from your forehead. As a teenager you developed so many freckles they all blended into one big freckle and made you appear as though you were tan. However as a man…you barely had time to appreciate your golden moustache and beard that made your weak chin—which you claim runs in your family—look like that of a superhero.

Never did I think I would be here today. In this gathering of familiar faces, and some not so much. Soundtracked by squelching wet grass under black brogues. 

Your grandmother remembers me, she said hello and squeezed my paw. Maybe not as vividly as I remember her though. Her heart is strong, as it always has been, even while broken. 

I'm old now, for a bear. 

Even though you had seven years experience on this great green earth before you gave me a heart, you were still so young. I wish I could embrace your grandmother, steal some of her wisdom to take action in this moment. I wish I could smile through my stitches to show your parents it's okay. I wish I could somehow tell your brother all the things you told me in passing conversations, about the life you wanted for him.

Most of all though, I wish I could lay there with you. I want your mother to place me on your coffin and lay me to rest under the heavy earth. But I know it would kill her to let me go. She squeezes me tighter now. I must stay.

I will be the embodiment of your soul. The package in which people can speak to and access memories. One day I may even sing again, who knows. If not, I’ll squeak and crackle every year on your birthday. The day you brought life to me. And I shall spend the rest of my time bringing comfort to those I can, like your grandmother probably always knew I would.