Trauma Stuffy

What’s one thing you own that holds deep sentimental value?

Trauma Stuffy—

What’s one thing you own that holds deep sentimental value?

Mine is a red fox stuffed animal.

I bought it ahead of Valentine’s Day during my first year of being single after a thirteen-year marriage. I thought I might find someone worth giving it to. Instead, it became something I shared with my children.

We would pass it back and forth—a little connection for the stretches when we couldn’t be together.

Ten years ago, they gave it back to me.

I haven’t seen my children since.

I’m an alienated father. That little fox has stayed with me through a decade of moves, uncertainty, and long stretches when I barely felt settled anywhere. Whatever else happened, I made sure I didn’t lose it.

Sometimes it brings the pain close enough to follow me into sleep. I have PTSD nightmares. But sometimes my children are there, too. The nightmares hurt, and I wish things were different. Still, waking up from seeing my children carries its own kind of heartbreak.

Once, my over-the-road semi was put out of service, and I couldn’t drive it. An unpaid ticket I hadn’t known about had to be resolved before I could drive again. I had to leave the truck behind, pack what I could into the bags I had, and leave whatever wouldn’t fit.

That truck was also where I slept. Suddenly, I was sorting through my life by what I could carry.

The fox came with me.

I carried it through the airport, tearing up off and on, trying to get myself through another hard situation.

I got through it.

And I wasn’t going to leave that stuffy behind.

It was supposed to travel back and forth between us.

I’m still keeping it safe.