The air smelled like gas, fried food, and leather. Engines screamed all around us, generating a lot of noise and mayhem that blocked out everything but the pounding in my chest. We were at a motorbike rally for a noble cause, but to me, it felt like I was in an other world. Steel, deafening noise, and people who had endured experiences beyond my comprehension enveloped me.
Riley, my niece, was there with me. She was seven years old, had wide eyes, and her shoelaces were untied. She wore a hoodie that was two sizes too big and hugged her worn-out teddy bear like it was a gem. I had asked her earlier why she was so determined to bring it. She just shrugged and said, “I think someone else might need it more than I do today.”
Back then, I didn’t think much of it. That’s what kids say. But I would soon understand that she saw something I didn’t.
As we passed by the food trucks, I saw him sitting alone on the curb. He was enormous, with a braided beard and a leather vest that fit snugly over his big shoulders. He wasn’t lucky at all, even if the patch on his chest said “Lucky.” It looked like he was doing everything he could to be calm. His head was down, his elbows were on his knees, and his sunglasses hid whatever storm was going on behind them. He could hear and see everything going on all around him, but he felt strangely calm, as if the pandemonium didn’t bother him.
Riley grabbed my hand and said, “That’s him.”
“Who?” I asked.
“The person who looks sad but is strong.”
I couldn’t stop her from going right over to him. A tiny kid with dirty shoes and messy hair was standing in front of a man who looked like he hadn’t let anyone come close to him in a long time. He looked up, unsure of what to do, and then he put his head down again. Riley stayed still.
“You look like you need a hug,” she said. “But my teddy bear is better at that than I am.”
It was the kind of moment that made you feel like you were about to die.
He didn’t answer right away. He just stood there and looked at her. Then he carefully reached out, as if he were afraid the bear would break. He held the bear close to his chest once he had it. His shoulders began to shake. It was hard to see at first. It got harder after that. And then he started to cry.
Not very loud. Not in a major manner. He had to take off his sunglasses because they were making him cry softly and steadily. His eyes hurt a lot. Deep. The pain is severe and doesn’t go away.
A woman close by touched my arm. She had also seen it. “That’s Marcus,” she remarked in a low voice. “His daughter died a few months ago. Car accident. Her name was Daisy. That teddy bear used to be hers.
Now the name patch made sense. Good luck. He probably picked the name long before he was sad about it.
He held the bear and didn’t say anything for a while. Riley didn’t beg for it back, not even once. Just being there. He finally wiped his face, glanced at her, and pulled something out of his pocket. It was a small silver charm that looked like a four-leaf clover. He gave it to her.
“It’s lucky,” he remarked. “Take care of it.”
Thereafter, he stood up and walked away with the teddy bear still in his arms. He disappeared into the crowd as if he had just been there for a second.
Weeks passed. Then months went by. Riley put the silver clover in her jewelry box, where it sat unused but always remembered. One afternoon, there was a letter. An effortless envelope. The letter provided instructions on where to mail goods back to a treatment clinic.
It was Marcus who sent it.
That day, he told me he didn’t know how to say thank you. The teddy bear Riley handed him opened something inside him that he had kept hidden for a long time. Yes, it made him think of Daisy. But also of love. And hope. He believed that he no longer deserved such love and hope.
The letter said, “You gave me more than just a teddy bear.” “You gave me hope.” “I want to be someone Daisy would be proud of.”
There was a photo inside. A little kid with a big smile. The child’s hair is light brown. In the front of her mouth, there is a missing tooth. A teddy bear in her arms. Daisy.
Riley sat on the floor with the photo and looked at it for a long time. Then she replied in a quiet voice, “She looks happy.”
Riley thought about that day for a long time. Not just as a memory, but as a goal. Years later, Riley became a grief counselor. She told the story of Marcus and the teddy bear a lot, not to get pity but to illustrate that it was true. Even the smallest act of kindness can touch the deepest grief.
People never saw Marcus at the rallies again. But rumors did go around. He didn’t have a drink. He opened a small center to support families who had lost a child. A place where you didn’t have to hide your anguish. Someone remarked the emblem looked like a four-leaf clover with fire around it.
A sign that life is still going on. This symbolizes the rebirth of both loss and hope.
A little girl noticed a man who seemed sad yet powerful and gave him her teddy bear. That’s how it all started.