Ode to DeDe

'Little over two weeks ago, my Isaac lost his very best friend. I've never seen this child so sad, so absolutely heartbroken and devastated. Before I lead you down the wrong path, I must clarify: his friend is not human. His friend is a little, grey terry cloth covered stuffed dog, with a big nose and a tiny head. It's tattered, missing a tail, and it's been loved so much that the fluff in it's neck is wearing thin so it's head flops a little. He's had this dog since birth. And let me get another thing straight. Although the dog's name is DeDe, it is not a girl. Isaac has corrected many a person who refers to DeDe as a 'she.' In fact, just to clear it up completely, "DeDe" wasn't really even a proper name, to begin with. It was how Isaac said "dog" when he was learning how to talk. So, naturally, DeDe carried on to become "dog's" name.
Anyhow, at several points in this child's life, I have feared this would happen. Once, we were in TJ Maxx, and I swear I wasn't buying another sweater or looking at shoes, but during the process of not looking, somehow DeDe fell out of the hands of my boy, and it wasn't till we were leaving the store that he asked the sweat-inducing question: "Where's my DeDe?" I remember racing up and down the aisles of that store, in and out of clothes racks, pilfering through boxes of shoes that I had, again, not been looking at. At last we spotted him, on the floor beneath a dress rack. Whew.
Another time, we were in a hurry to leave for someplace I don't recall. We got down to Auten Rd, the cross street we always turn on, and you guessed it, there was that question again. I tried to suggest that he had just left him at home, but this child was insistent that we stop the car and look. As I swerved onto the shoulder, horror struck me as I suddenly remembered that I put DeDe on the roof of the car while I was buckling the boys in. I was positive this stuffed animal was a goner. I unbuckled my belt and exited the car wincing, knowing I would look up at an empty roof. Sure enough. It was gone. I walked around to the back of the car and kicked the tire, cursing myself for doing this, and agonizing over how I'd tell Isaac. I rested my head on the back window staring at the road behind the car...and there he was. A little stuffed grey head poking out of the ditch. I ran to his rescue and delivered him to his faithful owner. That was a miracle, for sure.
Oh, and there were countless times that a store clerk would chase after us because Isaac had left DeDe by the register, or a waitress would catch us on the way out of a restaurant when he'd been left in the booth.
But this time was different. This time, no one chased us down, no one said "oh, I remember where I saw him..." I couldn't even remember the last place I saw DeDe with Isaac. He'd become such a fixture under my son's arm, it was hard to recall anything different. We searched his room, particularly his bed, which is a pit of toys (no Dr. Phil or Supernanny comments on how to raise my kids necessary here, people). We searched the basement, where the kids play. We looked high and low, but DeDe didn't reappear. I began to think he was probably in a grocery cart...considering all the Meijer trips we had made around Thanksgiving, I figured it the most probable case. I called Meijer, too. The clerk on the phone paused, and then a half-snottily, half-amusedly said "Noooo, we don't have any tailless little grey dogs in our lost and found." This child was beside himself. I thought it might pass, after a few days. No. For two weeks straight, he cried about it, drew pictures of DeDe, wrote letters to him, and theorized that DeDe was somewhere dark and cold and no one was loving him. I think, in reality, Isaac was the one feeling a dark and cold pit in his stomach, missing his dear grey friend. He confessed through tears that it was all his fault, he was sure he'd left him somewhere, and he told me (remember, he's five, not thirty-five) that this was the worst pain he's ever felt in his life.
My father promised to help look for it. My mother and sister were wrought with anxiety over this little dog. I prayed that God would help me find it. I even hoped, in some child-like way, that a Christmas miracle would bring him back to us. Maybe someone would find him. Heck, everyone who knows Isaac also knows DeDe...it was possible someone would see him somewhere.
Last night, Isaac had another breakdown. He sat down by the Christmas tree, on his knees, his head hanging. I asked what was wrong, and then I noticed big teardrops plopping down on his lap. He said he didn't care if any other presents came under that tree, he just wanted to see DeDe again. This prompted one last search. We tore apart the basement, including the mechanical room and the storage room. My husband went upstairs to Isaac's room, and I could hear him up there, literally moving furniture and ransacking the room. At one point, it was all quiet again. I heard his footsteps coming down the stairs, and braced myself for the shoulder shrug. The "well he's just not up there" shrug. I could tell by the look of hopelessness in my boy's eyes that he was expecting it too. I can't tell you how this next part is possible. I really don't know. I tell you I looked for hours, I begged for some sort of divine assistance, I cried for this child and his DeDe...but to no avail. So I don't know how, after two weeks, this floppy grey head came around the corner in my husband's arms. But I can tell you that tears of relief and joy and general "oh my Lord is this really happening" raced down my face and Isaac's too, as he held his tattered buddy. DeDe had somehow gotten lost in Isaac's closet....in hindsight, it was probably when I had Isaac clean out his closet....about two weeks prior. Either way, DeDe was 'home.'

I realize this is bittersweet. I realize it may have been a good opportunity to say "well, he's five now, and it's probably time he gave up his attachment, anyhow." I realize it could happen again. But I also realize a bond that meant something to my son. This little dog comforts him, makes him feel safe. It's his friend, his confidant. I realize he'll grow older and make "real" friends, and even experience real loss, but somehow, I hope he can hold on to DeDe, even if it just becomes a decoration on his bed. It means something very special to him. And even though this is already long, I have to share with you my justification for this relationship, for I have believed the Skin Horse's words for years and years, since my own childhood:
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real...It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."--The Velveteen Rabbit