A Bear of a Post

We couldn’t find Bear a few nights ago. Those of you who know Harper know this is a big deal. Losing Bear is a 9-1-1 situation. Our babysitter, who’s been with us for two and a half years has called just once when we were out and it was to say, “I can’t find Bear!”  Glasses of wine had been poured, menus were being looked over, but after that phone call Jesse had his wallet out asking our waitress for the bill. Stat.

It quickens everyone’s heart when Bear’s lost, which hasn’t been often, I’m happy to report.  But this last time was rough. I was in the middle of a writing course I’m taking at The Writer’s Center in Bethesda when Jesse called to ask where Bear was.

“Do you have Bear?” I think was the exact question he asked and if I were feeling funny at the time I would’ve said, “Actually, yes.  I took Bear with me because I’m shy.”  But I wasn’t feeling funny, I was quite scared.  So much so that I was running towards the car completely forgetting that I’d left my journal and planner in class.  Never in my life would I forget a journal OR a planner but Bear makes you do crazy things like ask your spouse if they took him with you for a night out.

Just as I was unlocking the car door, I heard Jesse say, “Oh, THERE he is!” and Harper began laughing slash crying because they’d found him.  In our laundry basket.  What he was doing there, we’ll never know (although he is incredibly dirty).

I walked back into class feeling quite shaken.  It was hard to hear Jesse upset and Harper crying (and Hadley was in the background calling for Bear…always the helper). And there was nothing I could do to help.

The truth is, though, that I’m pretty attached to Bear too.  Before he was Harper’s, he belonged to Hadley.  Hadley happily gave Bear to Harper after she decided that Goofy was the best thing since sliced bread, but both of the girls chose Bear as a buddy.  And before Bear belonged to my girls, he was mine.

When I was pregnant with Hadley, Bear was sent to us and I sat him in our bedroom as a reminder for me to hope that the baby that was growing inside me would be born.  After having a miscarriage a few months earlier, it was hard not to wonder if it’d happen again.  Looking at Bear helped me begin to feel like a mother.  Sometimes, when Jesse wasn’t home, I’d pick him up and wonder what it’d feel like to hold my newborn baby – just as I would rush to put my wedding dress on when my parents weren’t home – I guess there is joy in pretending and preparing.  At least, for me.

So the fact that Bear has been a comfort for both me and my girls is significant.  But I wondered as I sat in class trying to pay attention to what the teacher was saying, What would’ve happened if we hadn’t found Bear?  If Harper had to go to sleep without him? The thought is so sad I can barely type it.

I think of all the things I’m most afraid of as a parent, heartbreak is my biggest fear.  When girls don’t want to be friends with Hadley and Harper, when boys don’t ask them to dances (although, let’s be honest, that’d be JUST FINE), when they’re the last to be picked for a team, or not picked at all.

When Hadley was about 2, we were visiting my parents and I took her to the library next door to my house.  She was trying to play with two older girls that weren’t really interested in playing with her but Hadley couldn’t read their nonverbals.  It upset me to watch so I left, leaving her with Jesse and my dad.

I walked into the kitchen, to my mom cooking, a scene I know too well – me walking in the kitchen upset for some reason and my mom cooking something delicious.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, hand on her hip stirring something.  She didn’t even need to turn around to know the mood I was in.

“Hadley’s trying to make friends with older girls at the library and they aren’t interested. I can’t watch it.”  Saying it made me cry.

“Don’t let her see that it upsets you.” my mom told me.

And it was the best advice she ever gave me.

Because she couldn’t prevent the shame I felt when my tooth got knocked out in the dugout of a baseball game that I wasn’t playing in. Or the frantic sadness I experienced when a friend called me up days before sixth grade to tell me she hated me. Or the confusion of testing into the “low” reading and math groups all throughout most of my schooling.

It was OK to be upset about these things but it was also very, very clear that I was OK.  It might take awhile but I’d find a sport I was good at (that wouldn’t include a ball). It might take awhile but I would find friends. And while I never understand math, I know that it doesn’t matter what level reader I am as long as I stick with the story.

So when the heartbreak comes, I’ll help my girls stick with the story.  No matter how sad it might be.

But until then, I’m watching Bear like a hawk.