There are few close friends who don’t know about Sindie. Santa brought Sindie to me way back when I was 2, and he has traveled across the country with me. When I left other possessions packed up in boxes at my parents’ home, Sindie went to San Luis Obispo, Atlanta, New York and Colorado.
He’s been my comfort when I can’t have my mom … because that’s the first thing you say when you don’t know what else to do—”I want my mommy.” I have said it many times in the last three months, and I’m not ashamed. Sindie was there when Mom couldn’t be (hey Mom, you need to know, you are my No. 1 choice!).
Sindie usually holds a place in the top of my closet with various other stuffed animals from my childhood (including Brownie, Mrs. Elephant and more). When my dad died, Adam brought Sindie down to sleep with us; he knew it would help. When Adam went to rehab, and I was alone and uncertain, Sindie came back down out of the closet. When Adam died, my sister saw him and brought him down for me as well.
He hasn’t left the bed since. Now, Bixby, Sindie and I sleep in a tiny portion of a king-sized bed; huddled together for comfort.
Sindie is a boy dog … don’t be confused by his name, dammit. He’s the comfort I’ve always had with me. Once, at Cal Poly, the guys in the dorm strung him up as a joke … I’m pretty sure it was Annie and Suzanne who told them it would be a bad idea … that I wouldn’t find it funny. I didn’t. Now I sort of do because it’s a fun memory … a memory before life became too difficult.
Perhaps we all fall back to childhood when life is annihilated. When you are toasting a Pop-Tart, and you fall apart, when the reminder that Adam is not coming back crashes over you, you sort of need your stuffed dog and your real dog close beside you.
Though I would still rather have my mom.