Meet Miz Victoria Fiona, and let me tell you how we became acquainted. It was shaping up to be a typical Tuesday. All my errands were done — the dry cleaning, grocery shopping, paying bills. With free time on my hands, I sat down with the television remote and devoured a tuna sandwich.
Really, though, it was not a typical Tuesday. If you know anything about grief, you know all too well that sometimes it moves over you like a gray cloud with no warning. It sneaks up on you, hovering until it begins to rain. By rain, I mean tears. I am not qualified to write about it clinically, so I will write about it personally.
It has been almost three years since I said goodbye to my best friend in the whole wide world, my mama. After countless sessions with my grief therapist who helped me so much indeed, I am still sometimes stopped in my tracks, jarred by the longing for her. Not on this day, I told myself, because I recognized the familiar sadness about to settle in upon me and tried something new. I heard a tiny voice inside me. Perhaps it was my little boy ego, or even an angel. Without giving it a second thought and with a smile of clarity, I did something spontaneous and went to build a bear.
Yes, at the ripening age of 43, this true child-at-heart marched into the Build-a-Bear workshop. When the friendly guy asked if he could help me, I grinned from ear to ear and said, “Yes. I am here to build a bear all for myself.” I carefully selected a deflated little brown bear who would later be named Miz Victoria Fiona. If you don’t believe me, her birth certificate is available for inspection.
It was just the distraction my heart craved, and speaking of hearts, I held my bear’s mechanical heart in my hands, closed my eyes and made a wish before the helper tucked it deep inside her. I chose her scent which made her smell like cotton candy, added a giggle sound, and then she came to life right before my very eyes. Her little heart really beats. I dressed my new friend in a rainbow tutu with silver sequined vest and high heels, of course. If you knew my mama, you know she would have been delighted by it all and insisted on a bear of her own.
The lesson I learned: Listen when that voice in our hearts whispers to us. Don’t be afraid to let go of our serious side, if only for a minute or two. I don’t know about you, but when I see that dark cloud moving across my skyline and feel that I can “bearly” make it, I might just pull out my umbrella, or not, splash in the puddles, maybe even build another bear. And wait for the sun to come out again.
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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