by Patti
When S was born, my father gave her a little stuffed sheep. That little sheep sat perched on her dresser, stitched black eyes steady and unblinking, until she was old enough to start actually appreciating her stuffed animals. Ever since that day, that sheep, who became "Sheepy", has been S's best friend.
Sheepy went with S to her first day of preschool, safely clutched in S's scared little hands to safeguard her, and then he accompanied her every day thereafter, all the way through kindergarten, through every snack time, play time, and most importantly, nap time, and he never let her down.
We were always careful with Sheepy, ensuring he was tucked into bed with S every night, and, unless we were on a trip away from home, that he only went to school with her and then right back home. We could never risk losing Sheepy, after all; he was S's universe, and losing him would tear that universe apart.
When S was 7 years old, we took a family trip to Costa Rica, and of course, Sheepy came along with us. At the airport in Chicago, S was feeling sleepy, and whenever she feels sleepy, she needs to hold Sheepy. I warned S that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to take Sheepy out of her little carry-on; after all, what if something happened to him? But she insisted she would NEVER let ANYTHING happen to Sheepy, so out he came. There was a last minute gate change, and we all scrambled to get our things together and raced through the aiport to find our new gate and get on the plane.
Once we were all settled in on the plane, S proceeded to build her "nest": 2 blankets - Pooh and Bunny - and Sheepy, who would be cozily wrapped in Pooh while Bunny covered S. She began digging through her carry-on, and looked up at me, pale. "Mommy, I can't find Sheepy!"
"Are you sure?" I helped her dig through the bag, my stomach flipping just a little. Sure enough, Sheepy was nowhere to be found. I looked up at S, helpless. She could see by my expression that Sheepy was not on the plane with us. Her lip began to quiver, her eyes watering, and within seconds, she began to wail. Her cry twisted my heart violently; I had never seen her so devastated. I pulled her to me. "Oh, my baby... I'm so sorry!"
M kept looking through S's bag to see if he could somehow magically rustle up Sheepy by sheer will alone, and she was crying so loudly that the flight attendant actually came over to see what was going on. I explained to her that she had lost her beloved "sleeping buddy", and she must have been a mom, because she gave me such a look of understanding, I felt like I needed for her to hug me.
Then my mom was standing there, pulled from 15 rows away by her granddaughter's cry. "What is wrong?"she asked, panicked. S was wrapped around me, sobbing, and I mouthed the tragedy to her over S's sweaty, heartbroken little head. Suddenly my father was there, too. My father could never stand to hear S cry, not even for a single second, and seeing his "cookie-cookie" like this was almost more than he could bear. My mom looked at my dad and told him, and he bent into our row, practically climbing over M, desperate to take away her sadness. Alas, the plane was about to take off, and my parents were ushered back to their seats, leaving us with the loss of Sheepy in our laps.
S cried for a good hour, eventually falling asleep, shuttering and exhausted with grief. She slept on my lap most of the flight, and I stroked her hair, I myself devastated. It felt like the end of so much, and I was just as sad as S. We finally landed, and S woke, somber. We gathered our bags, took a shuttle to the car rental place, and all settled into the car, ready for our Costa Rican adventure. Before we took off in the car, I wanted to grab something from my bag, and reached into the cargo space to dig through it. I unzipped my bag, and out popped a furry little leg. I quickly unzipped it the rest of the way, and laying there, a patient look on his round little face, was Sheepy! I pulled him from my bag and held him up in the air, yelling out jubilantly to the car, "SHEEPY! I FOUND SHEEPY! HERE IS SHEEPY! SHEEPY IS HERE!" S lunged for Sheepy, pulling him from my hands to her chest, rocking back and forth with gratitude and excitement. My parents broke out in a joyous chorus of cheers, and M turned to me, his eyes wide.
"WHERE WAS HE?"
"IN MY BAG!"
"IN YOUR BAG?"
"YES! IN MY BAG!"
Yes, we were shouting, we were that hysterical. To think he had been IN MY BAG THE WHOLE TIME, through all of S's miserable cries, throughout the entire 6-hour flight. To think of how much sorrow we could have avoided if ONLY I had checked MY bag, and not just hers. My mind spun back to the airport, and suddenly, there I was, grabbing Sheepy hastily and shoving him in my bag. How had I not remembered this?
Today, nearly 4 years later, Sheepy is still with us. He is dirty, matted, old, and absolutely loved. S still sleeps with him every night, his worn little body tucked safely under her chin. Sheepy forgave us that near-miss, continuing to guard over S and her swiftly dwindling childhood, and for that, I am forever grateful.
