My Wabi Sabi Bear

The stuffed toy bear was small and old – decrepit is a descriptor that quickly came to mind.  It stood about 5” tall and, as I recall, was perched on its rump with paws outstretched.  What. probably had been luxuriant gray fur at one time was now sparse, and moth-eaten.  The netting base showed through the ‘fur’ in more than a few places.

Bear’s expression seemed plaintive or was it pitiful?  I couldn’t tell.  Bear’s eyes were black buttons, three-dimensional ones, that, in its current condition, made the wee bear look haunted or famished or perhaps the lone survivor of a natural disaster of gigantic proportions.

Bear had been my mother’s.  It was given to her by my father when they were courting in the 1920’s.  Few sentimental items had survived Mom’s many relocations over all the ensuing years.  Now I had inherited Bear after Mom’s death.

I looked at Bear again and saw, instead of a derelict and deteriorated toy stuffed bear, a cherished and well-loved tribute to my father’s abiding love for my mother which had not waned over their 40 plus years together until his untimely death at age 65.

Proof, I said to myself, that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  Bear was my Wabi Sabi bear, perfectly imperfect!