Dear Bluey,
I am still in Portugal. While I am writing this, Mom - as usual for the last few years – is unable to sleep.
It’s around 3am in Sacramento - where she currently lives with you (while you sit there in the office). She is texting me on how to keep my marriage together. As you know, I am not married - never have been. After months of trying to correct her, I finally succumbed to playing along. I told her my husband – Mom says his name is ‘Suki’ – is not home. I told her that we had fight - so, now - almost 5 hours since that conversation - she is still texting me advice on how to keep the imaginary marriage together.
Her condition is getting worse. So next week, I am heading back. While I am there - I will need your help again.
If you remember, Bluey, we met at a toy shop in Leicester, England – where we had resettled after fleeing Zambia. I was maybe 4 or 5 years old. Dad chose you because - as he told me - I was born a blue baby. Dad passed away over 20 years ago. And, if you do the math, Bluey - in your teddy bear brain – Mom is now in her late 70s, I am in my early 50s, and you are probably in your late 40s.
In any case, Bluey, I am remembering you - how happy that you’re blue and raggedy. How proud I am that you held together through years of wear and tear –mostly caused by my love for you. And how your seams and injuries have been stitched and restitched over time. You were the only friend I had through all our travels from England to Pakistan – from Pakistan to America - country to country - home to home. When the world didn’t make sense - you consoled me. When everything else felt uncertain – especially when Mom and Dad fought - you were the quiet, soft presence that kept me company.
I am sorry for the following things:
I am sorry for chewing on your ears and on your eyes and for swallowing your right ear. I learned from that one. (Just to be clear – I am not sorry for the hole I made in your chest -that was done so that I could hold onto your heart. I am also not sorry for the cut I made on your face - that was done so that you could have a voice. It all seems silly now, but at the time, this all made perfect sense.)
I am sorry for all the wear and tear I caused you. (You might want to thank Mom for keeping you together. She never suggested you should be replaced or be different. She accepted you as you were – falling apart - your head and your limbs fell off many times. She always stitched you back together. If she was unable to stitch you back – she used safety pins so we wouldn’t lose a part of you.)
I am sorry I abandoned you. (You have to understand I was about 12 or 13 and was trying to navigate being a “girl that liked girls” while being brown and Muslim South Asian in the suburbs of Houston. Life pulled me in other directions - and suddenly, you weren’t a part of my day-to-day anymore. It wasn’t intentional, but it happened. I had to fight my battles without a blue teddy bear.)
Well, we all moved on. I grew up - I went from being an oddball queer lesbian teenager to finding myself as an art student to moving into law. Now, just when I realized my last performance art piece - the one of being a corporate lawyer – was approaching a pause - Mom brought you into the room.
I was what – almost 50? I was stressed about Mom – she was showing signs of dementia. I was reading a Post It note she had written, and she came into the room and handed you to me.
Wow! You had survived - after all these years - all the moves and the homes we’d lost - Houston to Pakistan - Pakistan to Chicago – Chicago to Houston - Houston to Fresno - and there in Sacramento – Mom had protected you - my Bluey.
So, I am preparing to head back to California to help take care of her. I am thinking of you again, Bluey. Strange, isn’t it? After all these years, the roles are shifting. Mom gave you back to me with the same love and care she once used to keep you together no matter how many times or for whatever reason you fell apart.
Now, it’s my turn to give her that same care and love - to help her stitch together the pieces of her life and her memories. She’s falling apart - piece by piece - and I want to help her hold onto the threads of who she is. She’s fragile, just like you are.
I suspect also Mom held onto you because she knew what you had once meant to me. You are not just a childhood toy she was keeping safe. You are a piece of my heart. Maybe she is trying to remind me of where I can go for help - someone I can hold on to for love.
How much did it take for her to secretly hold onto you for over 3 decades? We’re all held together with the threads of love and time – we will make it through - see you soon, Bluey … see you soon, Mom!!
This is such a beautiful story. Thank you for sharing!
I just landed in the Bay Area to visit my dad & family. He was admitted to the hospital for a few days for a UTI and pneumonia. He is now back in the residence we have found for him. After moving him from 3 different care memory care facilities and spending a lot of money, we are relieved that he seems to be getting the care he needs (finally). It’s a licensed 6 bed home. My father is 89
Are you moving to Sacramento permanently to care for your mom?