Today I write a eulogy, a eulogy for a bear. A bear belonging to Kara, and so cleverly named, Bear. Bear was patient in trials. After being spun around by his arm, Bear emerged with his constant good cheer. After being cut with scissors, Bear was an unceasing optimist, a few stitches and surely he'd be as good as new. After being lost under a mattress for weeks and found flattened, Bear was able to rebound. He was once white, though more recently identified as tan, but Bear wasn't vain. He knew, "You're Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile."
Bear was always up for fun and adventure. Bear loved sliding on the banisters and being flung up to hit the ceilings. He was always willing to be photographed. True, he was a little demanding, always wanting to be tucked in beside Kara. Always demanding the last bedtime kiss of the night. Sometimes requiring real food, because he was, after all, no ordinary bear.
Bear was lost on Saturday. He was last seen at the Customer Service Desk between gates 36 and 38 in the A concourse at Denver International Airport. He was lost when harried parents rushed off for the next flight to San Francisco, all the way over in the B concourse. A heart-broken seven year old walked off that flight in San Francisco, crying tears that elicited the sympathy of elderly passengers. We've tried calling Lost and Found at DIA, and I'm quick to reassure that no one would steal Bear, he's far too ragged. Still, we've had no news. Kara carries on, reading books sing-song and practicing magic tricks. We've told her we can buy another. But there's only one Bear.
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