“And sweetheart, never keep a secret that makes you frightened or unhappy. You can always tell Grandma.”
That evening, I called Emily.
She admitted the teddy bear had been Jake’s idea, although she had helped him find the materials.
She hadn’t realized how emotional the children had become.
We agreed that neither child should feel responsible for hiding or fixing my grief.
The following morning, on my sixty-ninth birthday, Jake handed me the finished teddy bear.
One ear was smaller than the other. Several stitches were crooked, and the red heart wasn’t perfectly centered.
Yet I had never received anything more beautiful.
Lily climbed onto my lap.
“Grandma, is Grandpa with you now?”
I looked at the bear and remembered Robert’s laughter, his warm hands, and all those Sunday afternoons when the children ran into his arms.
“Grandpa loved us very much, sweetheart. And we can always carry that love with us.”
