(prompt: 'milestone' 18/12/2020)

"Tell me again why we don't want a grave and a headstone when we snuff it, Mum." Ted Bear Esq. harrumphs a time or two, which sounds similar to people clearing their throats, only grufflier. He would put his hand to his broad, hairy forehead in a mock-Thinker pose, if only his arms were long enough. Instead, he spreads his worn velvety paws, "I thought that was your FINAL milestone?" He peers over the top of those specs threatening to slide off the end of his nose. Except they can't, thanks to the most delicate surgery I performed long ago. If you're up close and personal, you'll see that it's not Ted's original nose.

Didn't I tell you about that? Ahh, well, it happenstanced like this. As you all know, Ted Bear Esq. and I fell in love when I was two and he was new - on my actual birthday! (Now THERE was a matchless milestone moment, if ever I've seen one.) I loved him for a few decades before I loaned him to my humanoid-type youngest son. NOT, you understand, whilst he was still a baby, slobbering and sicking up and goodness knows what, all over Ted. No, this son had Ted to watch over him through the night for the shortest time before THE terrible trauma happened. It was due to two boisterous boys getting over-excited on a sleepover. In a childish version of macho muscle flexing (or rough-house shenanigans), the neighbour's kid got carried away and ripped Ted's nose right off his face. Ohh the agony... unbearable really. There were tears - and muffled screams. The angst in the air was so thick you'd need a chainsaw to break through. Ted Bear Esq. didn't look too happy, either.

No anaesthetics for teddy bears back in those days (don't think they're too thick on the ground even in today's brave new technological world), but I pretended the first puncture would numb all. Ted accepted stoically, and didn't move a muscle as I performed precise plastic surgery, despite having to stop now and then to mop my tears. Best we don't dwell on that episode. Ted and I get a tad emotional.

Meanwhile, back at the 'last wishes' department, I explained once again (for the 42nd time) why we're being cremated, Ted and I, when I snuff it. One came from an ancient memory—an observation from my pram of Mum and Dad visiting the grave of my little brother who didn't achieve his second birthday. Arriving smiling and happy, their faces would soon sadden, tears would fall, and the heaviest of silences surround them as they arranged flowers on his ultimate resting place. I vowed never to have a grave to make people sad. I'd choose burial in their hearts where they could occasionally fetch out my memory and smile about a happy or silly or funny moment we'd shared.

"And the other reason - my golden beauty - is that I don't believe anyone else will EVER love you like I have, and I'm not prepared to take the risk that I'm right." I kiss Ted's head, and though nobody else can see it, he nods and smiles, and we snuggle even tighter.

Photo by Zoltan Tasi on Unsplash

Tweaking by Christine Larsen