Autumn of ’89 started like any other. Summer was quickly coming to an end as wintertime crept in. Like most years, the family was apprehensively anticipating sharing the holidays together.
Although every year became a little harder due to the distance that kept us physically apart, in our hearts we remained close. What i’ve always loved most about time with my family is the laughter and the enjoyment of little things.
Astonishingly, even that which we apprize we commonly take for granted. Without seeing it, I took for granted that my mother and father, in their early sixties in ‘89, would be here for years to come. Years that in a second appeared to be ripped from my world.
It was late on a Monday night in September of that year when I got the terrible call. “If you want to see your father alive, you must come quickly.” Those words rang in my head as I carelessly tossed cloths into a bag. My thinking was such that a tattered grocery bag would serve as my baggage.
My thinking was also such that instead of immediately getting on the road, I felt obligated to bake my father his favorite cookies. Although I had been informed he was in a coma as a effect of a massive cardiac arrest, I was certain my cookies would be the magic formula to bring him around.
As I drove late into the night, memories of long ago danced in my head. Memories of times shared with my father who, although a pillar in my life, now lay empty in an infirmary bed. Glancing often at the plate of cookies that were placed cautiously on the seat behind me, I tearfully questioned if I’d ever see my Dad alive again.
The shock of seeing my father hooked up to myriad monitors and machines was almost beyond belief. And yet, what my sisters and I quickly actualized was the devastation my mother was going through. The three of us questioned if our parents would have the chance to celebrate their 40th anniversary together.
With no visible change over the next few days, my sisters, mother and I received comfort in each others arms. Strangely, we also felt comfort by bringing one another cuddly stuffed animals. Within days, my mother’s accumulation of teddy bears grew and grew.
It was as though each bear carried a special meaning to her and bestowed what little comfort could be felt as she diligently viewed her husband lay in his own cosmos of a coma.
After weeks of begging for the near inconceivable, my father slowly began to retrieve consciousness. Acknowledging a miracle had happened, for the next few months we were exhilarated at each baby step my father took in his recovery.
Having to go through massive heart surgery to amend some of the damage, my father kept a few close fellows near his bedside as he recovered from his wounds. The very teddy bears my mother found comfort in as my father was on his “vacation” were the bears he now found comfort in.
As I ready for the holiday season this year, I wonder how much of an impact my father’s heart attack and all the experiences that accompanied it had on my choice to accomplish a lifelong dream.
For years, I had a secret desire to open a teddy bear store so I could share the feelings teddies had given me when I experienced a very painful divorce. A feel of ease that for some reason only the “correct” bear can bring. The same type of ease teddies brought to my mother, my father, my sisters and me in the autumn of ’89. The same kind of ease I now bear the chance to apportion with others on a day-to-day basis.
With my father’s experience now years trailing, I am once more anticipating sharing a holiday season with my mother and father who are soon going to be celebrating 57 years of marriage. Frequently my folks come to see me during the holidays, as it’s a very busy time of year. What with all the gift wrapping for the numerous people who arrive from all over the country to experience the unique teddy bear store that was at one time only a dream.
I’ve figured out life is about having the bravery to live our dreams. It’s in the willingness to do what we’re intended to do we have the chance to bring ease, joy, laughter and love to the lives of others.
If the only lesson I learned during the autumn of ’89 is how valuable life is, I will always be thankful. It’s because of that lesson I’m gifted with the opportunity to often help select just the right teddy bear for someone who is in need of comfort. Other times, it is to select a bear that is meant to bring joy, or express love, or gratitude, or just because…. because teddy bears make the world a little better one bear at a time.
Recent Comments