Tippid

     Tippid is a small red and white bear, with a heart shaped nose and a ribbon bow tie imprinted with the words “I Love You” in gold letters. He was a Valentine’s Day gift from Grandma when Alex was four years old, and for years was a constant playtime and bedtime companion. We don’t really understand the origin of his unusual name, and I’m not entirely sure of its correct spelling, as it was born of a child’s imagination and to my knowledge has never before been glorified in print. Tippid’s fur has been worn smooth from years of hugs, and like the Velveteen Rabbit in the children’s story, he has become “real” through the strength of a child’s love.
     Today, Alex moved to his college apartment. He’s not going far, less than two miles down the road, but for all that it might as well be across the ocean. It is the first time in over eighteen years that he doesn’t live here with us, and the first time in his life he has signed a lease and been legally responsible for his own “home.” It doesn’t really matter that we can call, or text, or email as many times a day as we might like to-- it’s the fact that he won’t wake up here, won’t stomp down the stairs to breakfast, and won’t argue with Sophie over the morning comics.

     The move itself was a fairly informal affair, with the mattress tied to the top of Alex’s truck and assorted furniture, kitchen, and bedroom accessories piled loosely in the back. We got to the apartment and discovered that he had left the key at home--not an auspicious beginning. A couple hours work assembling the bed and hanging the shower curtain had the place looking almost livable. We took a picture to document his room in its original “clean” state. Quick hugs, and plans for a Target run tomorrow to stock up on snacks.
     Back home, the house was eerily quiet. Usually I enjoy a little mid-day solitude, but today was different. Sophie is at camp, Ted went back to work, and Patch was snoozing on the patio. I took a box of apartment extras up to Alex’s room, and for the first time looked around at the emptiness and detritus—stuff that didn’t make the college cut. Mostly it was just old boy scout and school stuff, but then I opened the closet, filled with empty plastic hangers and old shoes. And there, sitting alone on the shelf, was Tippid.
     I had been handling things fairly well until that point, but Tippid undid me. As far as I know, Alex hasn’t done more than glance at that bear for years, but at that moment he mirrored my feeling of sadness and loss. Our boy is grown up and gone. The fact that Tippid is here and Alex isn’t, and never will be in the same way again, made me burst into tears.
     I feel like a fool sitting here sobbing over a stupid teddy bear. I’ve tried so hard to be grown up about the college transition and treat it as the wonderful, positive thing it is, for both Alex and us, but who am I fooling? I am crying inside, and so I guess it is natural that I should cry on the outside as well. I know I will get over this, and I know this is the way things are supposed to be. Life moves on. Babies grow up, and up, and up. But it is not easy, and I fear I will never really have my boy with me again.
     I will never forget the night, when Alex was three days old, that we took him to the emergency room because of severe jaundice. The nurses bundled him into a tiny incubator and the doctor told us to go home and get some sleep. Go home? Without him? I refused to leave until Ted convinced me that I had to get some rest so I could take care of Alex the next day. I knew my baby was in good hands with the nurses, but I still cried all the way home, barely slept, and was back at the hospital by 7am to make sure he was okay.
     Now I feel sort of the same way as I did that June evening so many years ago. I know Alex is in good hands--the school has taken care of many a freshman and successfully dealt with their hyperventilating parents. And he is an (almost) grown up young man, not a baby or even a child any more. But I’m still not sure how well I will sleep tonight, or for that matter how well Alex will sleep, alone in his apartment for the first time. I do know, however, that I probably shouldn’t show up at his door at 7am to check on him. He’s really old enough to take care of himself—I’m just not sure I can say the same thing about myself.