When I was three years old, I got the mumps. I don’t remember much about the physical experience except for seeing my little face looking fat and feeling kind of bad. What was most important about the mumps was being given an orange stuffed bear. My seven year old sister suggested that I name the bear the same interesting name as a black girl in her class – Walladeen.
I loved and hugged and communed with Walladeen. His grassy green, satiny inner ears eventually faded and tattered. When an ear actually began to tear, I was worried about Walladeen with the pure compassion of a child. I stitched the ear back on imperfectly but securely.
As a grown up, Walladeen is a very sacred part of my toolkit for self- care. Most often, he lives in a respectful storage place – with my undergarments. That’s his holding area.
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| I love you, Walladeen. |
When life happens and I feel sad or overwhelmed, I put Walladeen into action. I tuck him behind a bunch of pillows on my bed. And when I nap or put myself to sleep, I cradle him in my arms and feel comforted.
It’s been two nights since I separated with my lover and friend; Walladeen is back on the bed. I’m happy to report that I have no shame about being an adult woman who is still comforted by a stuffed animal.
Whatever works.