To a Teddy

In the photo from the late 1960s 

I look like I have been thrown into the child sized chair 

but I seem strangely happy about the situation. 

I am 6 months old 

and my companion on the chair 

is a large yellow fluffy teddy. 

She is wearing a cheery ribbon round her neck. 

Years later when I was able to use words to describe my surroundings I called her "Baby".

Me and my teddy.

A moment captured in the chaos of a Christmas morning.

In a more recent photo Baby seems to have shrunk. 

Her fur is thin and sparce. 

The ribbon long gone. 

Her hips click concerningly 

and her arms seem strangely floppy. 

My lifelong companero.

My teddy.

An observer of every childhood game, 

faithfully tucked into the dolls' cot each night 

(the dolls had no place there).

My teddy.

Left abandoned on my teenage bed, 

and regrettably tidied into a box for numerous years.

Now I hold her again. 

My teddy.

As in my middle age I seek to remember 

what brought comfort to the terrified child 

who is still within me. 

She reminds me that I am held by one 

whose arms have never let me go,

and who speaks the words I need to hear, 

"Do not be afraid, I have called you by name, 

you are mine!"