“It’s hard to explain how a few precious things, seem to follow throughout all our live …” Return to Pooh Corner
It’s impossible to capture in words the hole that competing with a bottle of Scotch for your mother’s attention and affection leaves in the soul of a little boy, especially a hyper-sensitive one who came into the world hungry for both, but pre-wired to believe he wasn’t worthy of either. There’s also no way that “little boy” could’ve known that, as he was struggling to navigate the alcohol-fueled fog that hung over his childhood like a marine layer on the Southern California coastline – in the depths of what, at times, were impenetrably dark and lonely nights accompanied only by the dulcet tones of basketball, baseball, and football play-by-play announcers on a bedside transistor radio – seeds were being planted in his heart that one day would take root, fight their way through the thick layers of scar tissue, and blossom into gifts that not only would define, but equip him with the insight and wisdom needed to fulfill his life’s purpose. But, they were and they did. Thankfully, one of those “gifts” was a deep connection with and a resulting respect for the subtle, but no less destructive power of loneliness and an insatiable desire to respond with whack-a-mole intensity and swiftness whenever and wherever it first rears its ugly head, lest its roots take hold and begin slowly suffocating its host.
For years, I scoured the landscape of adulting in search of new, creative, and societally appropriate ways to combat this lifelong foe in my life and, as importantly, in the lives of those whose hearts I felt strangely responsible for safeguarding – and I found and used many. I wrote (and still write) letters, cards, emails, Post-It notes, paper plate notes, and text messages with simple and not so simple “reminders” that my world, others’ worlds, and the world at large were (and are) better, softer, kinder, more beautiful, and more authentic places because the recipient was (and is) in them. That all of us want and need them to stay in those worlds – and that we need more, not less of them. I made (and make) calls and offer “open invitations” to be called at any hour of the day or night just to listen, to be present. Once, I even went as far as to embark on an unforgettable, seven cities in seven days “Social Media Road Trip” so that I could meet and spend some real life face time with more than twenty friends across the country who, in the midst of some very dark times in their lives had found their way to my virtual doorstep and with whom I’d corresponded for months – in some cases years – but never met.
Don’t get me wrong. Those word weapons have proven to be powerful tools in the battle to stave off this clever and often stealthy enemy – and I still use them with regularity. But, a few years back, while locked in another tug-of-war with loneliness in my own life and in the life of someone I hold dear who happened to be thousands of miles away, I realized that, because they are constructed with words, those weapons, like the voices in the radio that soothed me to sleep a lifetime ago, have a significant limitation: They can’t be held. I needed to find something that could, something tangible – a surrogate of sorts – something that, when the words dissipated into the air or faded from the page, could serve as a reminder of their sender – a life-like, low maintenance companion that, if called upon, could catch a tear (or two) or generate a smile. “I need a teddy bear,” I thought. “But, it can’t be just any bear. It needs to be a bear that’s especially soft and ‘cuddleable’. It needs to be a bear with a warm and inviting face – and eyes that smile and convey love. It needs to be a friend that just happens to have stuffing. I searched for months. And then I found him! His given name is Philbin.
I immediately sent for him and shipped him – express mail – to that special someone half a world away with this note: “Hi! My name is Philbin, but you can call me whatever you’d like. I’ve been sent by someone who thinks the world of you. I’m soft and I love to be cuddled. I can also be squeezed tight, when tight is what’s needed. Most of all, I’m here to remind you that you’re not alone. You’re never alone.” He’s never left her side. Months later, I introduced “Toby” to our grandson, Jake on Facetime and for weeks thereafter, he insisted that Toby be on every call. He even asked that we bring him on our Thanksgiving visit and, a few weeks later, I sent Philbin II to Jake. The video of their “reuniting” says it all:
That was the moment I knew Philbin was much more than a teddy bear. He was born to be an Emissary of Love. He’s since become my frontline of offense and defense in the battle against loneliness, hurt, and hopelessness – and he’s never let me down. Through the years, a special chosen few have received “visits” from Philbin that I hope will last a lifetime – cherished friends who, due to circumstances well beyond their control, have faced or are facing significant adversity and darkness and, as a result, feel or have felt very much alone, abandoned, shattered, or abused.
A few days ago, I asked a few of those friends if they’d share their experiences with Philbin. I was deeply touched by their responses. One, in particular, reached the heart of that “little boy” in a profound way: “Philbin showed up on my doorstep at just the right moment on just the right day. I lifted him from his delivery box and he instantly put a smile on my worn and hardened face. It was a time I not only felt particularly alone, but quite literally was alone. Though it might seem like a simple gesture, the thought that someone ‘out there’ cared enough to send such a special friend warmed my soul. I slept soundly that night in a way I hadn’t in a very long time. Every day I made my bed and every night I went to sleep, Philbin would be right there waiting to greet me, to remind me I wasn’t alone, wasn’t unloveable, wasn’t unworthy – and that my ugly wasn’t going to scare him away. He is a sign to me that I’m loved. I suppose that’s the most important gift Philbin has given me. P.S. Because of my new puppy, I’ve had to keep Philbin safe on my closet shelf, but he’s becoming better trained each day and Philbin will be back out soon. I miss holding him through the night. Thanks again!”
Thank you, Philbin – for stepping into the void and loving hard when Life is hard.
donblackwell 