photograph: PINTEResT

Dear Reader,

Having a shabby childhood relic is a vital part of adult life. These relics come in the form of disintegrated blankies, flattened teddy bears, and headless plushes. Mine is a life-size stuffed dog who’s seen better days. I’ve been sewing three big holes in its stomach, arm, and backside for what feels like an eternity and every night I find more stuffing out of “Doggie” and on my bedroom floor.

Despite its lackluster appearance, I love it. At 20 years old, I can’t bring Doggie around as I used to, so when I find myself in Doggieless positions I know it’ll be a sleepless night. I use its limp body for everything you can imagine: a pillow, a backrest, a table, a reminder of my former childish wonder yet lack of creativity(I mean…Doggie).

It’s seen me through every stage of my life, and even when I’m married with a McMansion and five kids, I won’t give it up. Doggie is the hill I die on. As Doggie’s lost stuffing, I’ve gained a life. One filled with love, hate, stress, boredom, friendship, and so much more. Doggie has patiently sat on my bed watching it all, waiting for me to come to lie down and cry about it.

My grandma bought Doggie for me when I was eight, later than most childhood artifacts. We were in Target back when they had the aisle filled with oversized stuffed animals. I saw Doggie and knew I had found my twin flame, the one who would be with me through thick and thin. I begged and begged, and like most grandmothers fighting for their grandchildren’s love, she bought it for me.

I remember how it looked back then, in the Target checkout line. So fluffy, filled with pristine stuffing. Its colors so bright and its fur so soft. Untouched by man. When I brought it home, my mom was mortified. She didn’t understand and definitely didn’t think it would be roaming around her house 12 years later.

Now, my grandmother can’t remember my name, let alone the stuffed animal she bought me in 2012. Whether she remembers or not, however, she changed my life. If she refused my puppy dog eyes and my incessant begging, I wouldn’t be a 20-year-old college student with attachment issues to an inanimate object. I wouldn’t have a visual representation of my growth as a human being.

Seeing childhood photos of me and Doggie I’m bombarded with feelings of both guilt and appreciation. While Doggie loses life with every clump of stuffing lost that I'm too lazy to replenish, I gather pieces of myself that make me more and more whole. Our negatively correlated relationship gives me concrete evidence of my life lived well, yet also reminds me that I’m no longer a child. Looking into its beaded black eyes, coming loose from its disproportionately large head, I’m forced to accept that not all things last forever. The things I love most will one by one age out of existence, leaving me only with the fond memories of our time together.

Love,

Isabella

Old Friends

photograph: PINTEResT