As a child, my nickname was Teddy, and my father called me Bear for short. Every year on my birthday, March 11, he gifted me a Teddy Bear. This ritual continued until dementia began to take his memories, personality, and connection to those who loved him. As his mind faded, so did the tradition—he stopped giving me bears when he no longer remembered.
The year he forgot, I mummified a Teddy Bear he had previously given me, transforming it into a preservation of our bond. Since then, I have made a new Mummy Bear each year to honor the ritual. By the time he no longer recognized me and lost all memory of himself, I had created six Mummy Bears—each a testament to love, loss, and the enduring weight of remembrance.
On Thanksgiving 2024, my father passed away. Yet, in the ritual of creating each new bear, he remains with me—woven into every stitch, wrapped in memory, forever a part of who I am.
