I am home in Virginia Beach for the first time since the fire. My parents sold my childhood home the week before my wedding, so I guess I'm not really "home." When they sold it, I said it was ok because I had my own home. I feel weird being at their new place and do long for my "home."
As I was walking up to give Kellen a bath, I passed by a set of stuffed animals. I saw my very well loved white bear. After I read The Velveteen Rabbit as a kid I put this bear up on a shelf because I didn't want him to be too loved. But he was.
I picked him up and said "mine." (It's amazing how childhood memories make us revert back to childish behavior.) I have tried so hard over the past several months to let go of attachments. And yet when I saw this bear I was immediately attached. And relieved. It wasn't in the fire.
I loved this bear. But it was a childhood bear. It is very very worn. And I don't need the bear to remember how much I loved it. So why is it so important to me to actually have the bear? Why do I need items from my past if the memories are always carried with me? I recently wrote something that talked about the fire and the smell of burned memories lingering in the air immediately after the fire. Someone said that the mementos burned but not the memories. But to me it was as if the actual memories were gone. And I felt tonight as though the memory of my childhood bear was revived.