For months we had looked forward to our family trip to Sedona, Arizona, and were nearing bed time on our very first night there, when Paige, my youngest, cried out from the bedroom,
“My bunny! Where is she? I can’t find her, and I have looked everywhere!”
Justin and I glanced at each other, a look to question the other one.
I hadn’t grabbed her from the hotel we’d been in the night before that was now 2 hours away,
and his look confirmed that neither had he.
The bunny she referred to was her tattered, thread-bare one.
She has had it since she was a baby.
It has come along on every trip, been in every sick bed, plane flight, scary time,
and family movie night.
Bunny’s fur now looks clumped, and matted, and patches are worn off.
Instead of fluffy, she looks flattened.
Her newness is long loved away.
Many times I’ve offered to buy a new one for Paige, but that just makes her cling tighter to Bunny’s head.
“No. I like that she feels scratchy,” she’ll say. “I like how that feels when I rub it against my face.”
After searching as an entire family through every single bag, and then the car,
we realized that Bunny was, indeed, missing, and right away
I got on the phone.
I called the hotel we’d stayed at the night before and explained our case,
but the woman on the other end told me the cleaning crew had gone home for the night,
and they were the only ones with the key to get in to lost and found,
so I would need to call back the next day.
She asked for a description of what she should be looking for.
“She’s the kind of lovie you buy a baby for comfort.
The kind that is supposed to be white, but that love has turned more grey.
She probably doesn’t look like much to most onlookers, but she means the world to us.”
The front desk worker promised to leave the cleaning crew a note,
and I hung up to go tell Paige what I’d found out through my search.
This no-news-news was enough to make Paige burst, wailing, into tears.
How could she sleep without Bunny? There was just no way!
“I know I could have a new bunny, but what I love most about her is that she’s only special to ME. I don’t like soft fur bunnies anymore. I only want my bunny and her scratchy fur.”
For over an hour I tried to soothe her without any success.
I tried to be strong for her, but the truth is that
I was also a mess.
That bunny was the last symbol of childhood left in our house.
The last thing that feels “little” kid.
The last whisper of a baby I’m not ready to see grow up yet.
The thought that it could be gone for good was simply too much to bear,
and though I soothed Paige’s tears that night, and told her it would be OK,
I felt like I needed someone to also soothe me.
My solution for the night was to take another (inferior) stuffed dog we had brought,
and stuff his ear into an inside out, scratchy old gym sock.
“There. Does that feel kind of like her?” I asked Paige, who was curled into a ball on her bed.
She only nodded, and then kept crying silently
until, finally, she slept.
The next morning when I called the hotel again, as the phone rang and rang,
I suddenly felt like I had stopped breathing, then my heart was pounding, and I started to shake.
The woman on the other end who was working the desk had to say “Hello?” twice while I gathered myself.
For a moment I couldn’t figure out what was even happening,
but then it became clear to me:
This year had already taken so many things that we loved.
Normal life, sense of security, people, and a feeling of freedom.
It simply COULD NOT take Bunny, too.
That’s where I drew the line.
The fear over hearing that they had not found anything had hands that were choking me, and whipping me around.
When I finally pulled it together and could form the words, I explained about leaving Bunny,
and the woman said that she’d go check before what would prove to be the longest 20 seconds of my life.
I prayed and held my breath.
I could hear the phone pick back up then, and time almost stood still,
but then she said,
“We have her,” to me.
You guys, I absolutely sobbed.
I could barely even croak out my “thank you” on the phone.
I thought “This person probably thinks I’m crazy for crying over that ratty piece of greying fur,” but then that woman said,
“I remember one time when my son lost his special thing.
I cried so much when it was found later, so I completely understand you.”
“I am crying! I’m crying right now!” I burst out, like a blubbering mess,
and I told her we’d figure out getting Bunny, and to please just hold on tight to her.
I hung up to go tell the family who cheered and hugged each other like it was the best news we’d had in our lives yet.
Bunny! Bunny! They had Bunny!
The memory of those words will forever live right here in my chest.
I had posted asking friends for prayer in finding her on my Facebook page the night before,
and when I reported they’d found her there was a huge outpour of love and excitement.
The search for Bunny had affected everyone,
but one friend in particular really took it all on.
My friend Jade lives in Tucson, 2 hours south from where Bunny was,
but she offered to get in her car and drive there the next morning, and then the 2 more hours on to us.
I couldn’t believe the offer.
Four hours one way in the car?!
But she just said it was the least she would do for us, plus, she’d love a hug,
so to text her the name of the hotel that had Bunny, and the address of where we were.
I called back to the hotel then to tell them she would be the one to come,
and when this time a young man picked up, I barely got 4 words in before he cut me off.
“You’re the one who is missing Bunny?” he said,
“Yes. The staff has all been told to treat this as a top priority.
Nothing is going to happen to her.”
He made me give Jade’s full name and a description of her
“to make extra sure Bunny isn’t given to just anyone” he said.
He sounded so official. I thought that was really cute.
The next morning around 11:00, after three days of being lost,
my friend Jade showed up in Sedona and handed my little girl the top thing that she loves.
I’ve cried for days over this story, because it spoke to the child still in me.
I’ve felt like I’ve lost my bunny lately.
I’ve wondered how I’ll sleep.
The world feels dark, and scary with so much of our comfort lost.
“Bunny. Bunny. I can’t find my bunny.”
I feel that in my heart.
But this last week a chain of people who were not connected at all took it upon themselves to find a ratty old thread-bare bunny.
Something big that may have looked so small.
The note scribbled on a post-it to a cleaning crew,
the manager checking the lost-and-found,
the front desk woman thinking of her own son,
the young guy assuring that this mattered to him,
a dear friend climbing into her car…
Humans being human.
Connecting by kindness, and just by who we are.
That bunny passed from hand to hand back to where she belonged.
I want you all to remember the story of Bunny today if you’re feeling your own
treasures may be lost.
People are still people.
The right things can still get done.
Love will win through a chain of stranger’s hands, and small acts.
True love will keep us moving on.
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
