“Have you done a nervous?” asked my husband, as we made ready to leave our hotel today. I had; well, kind of. Under the beds, in the wardrobe, next to the bath. I sort of felt obliged to do something by way of response, however, so I kind of flicked the bedspread around in a desultory fashion.
And there was my bear.
The thought that he might have been left behind, especially at this time of year, is beyond horrible. He was given to me by my friend Steph, aka Mama Marmalade when we lost – 8 years ago next week – our first child, at 20 weeks. The Teddy Love Club, with whom she was working, aims to ease the heartbreak of the empty arms that attend the loss of a child by giving you something to hold; I placed this bear on our daughter’s tiny coffin and have had him in, near or on my bed every night since – yes, even on holiday.
I’m sure he would have been restored to me by the lovely folk at Bedruthan if he’d been left behind. But I feel much better knowing that he’s tucked safely into my bag as we thunder back down the motorway towards London.