I’m not positive when my daughter gave me Polar Pop, a small stuffed polar bear, but I know he’s around 25-years-old. He’s well-loved enough to show the years. When at home, he has nearly always sat in one place. (That has changed a bit since grandkids have entered the picture.) But since he came into my life, he has taken almost every single trip with me. I forgot him no more than three times, and one of those times was in the past couple years, when I messaged my daughter and asked if she could enlist her daughter to step in and care for him in my absence. (Of course, she was thrilled!)

Alaska, Hawaii, Washington, California, Nevada, Arizona, Colorado, South Dakota, Wisconsin, Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, Arkansas, Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, Georgia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, Ohio, West Virginia, Washington DC, New Jersey, New York, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Maine, British Columbia, Ontario, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Mexico, Bahamas, Jamaica, Israel, Austria. I might have missed a destination or two, but the point is—he’s seen a lot.

Yes. I know he’s a stuffed bear, and he technically doesn’t see, but who wants to get stuck on a technicality? When I travel, he nearly always rides in my backpack with his head peering out one of the compartments. More than once, a child has spied him and commented to a parent—and when the conversation includes me, I always reassure them stuffed buddies travel with people of all ages.

Through the years, my daughter and I have talked about the dreaded “what if.” What if Polar Pop ever got misplaced? Multiple times, we looked online for the original. His tag is worn to a fray with no hint of print to help identify him. We’ve searched with zero luck.

A week or two into January, I noticed Polar Pop wasn’t in his normal spot. That wasn’t horribly unusual. Every now and then, he was carried home with a grandkid, although I was pretty sure that hadn’t happened recently. He got played and slept with when kids were at my house, and they were all there over Christmas. He was probably tossed in a closet or basket when all the toys were put away. I scanned the obvious places. No Polar Pop.

I asked my daughter if she’d seen him. No Polar Pop. We tried not to panic, but it consumed me more than I’d like to admit. I planned to search by deep cleaning specific areas over the weekend, but then I couldn’t wait, so I’d jump into random organization projects that were more like search and rescue missions. But still, no Polar Pop. The grandkids were concerned. “Grandma, did you look under the bed?” “Are you sure you looked really well?” “Did you move the pillows?” “Is he hiding with the other polar bears?” I even searched around and under the seats in my car in case he went for a ride. 

Logic told me it was fine. He’s a stuffed animal. I was surprised he’d travelled so many miles without incident. That was a feat in and of itself. I would survive. But the emotional side of me was sad and a bit irritated with myself that I hadn’t noticed sooner. There was a gap where he sat on my nightstand. Why hadn’t I noticed? 

A few days later, my daughter asked if I could stop by her house on my way home from work. She needed to give me something. That was unusual. I jokingly messaged, “Is it Polar Pop?” but I knew she would have told me right away if that was the case. Plus, she was working from my house all day, so she wouldn’t have found him at her house. 

I walked to the door, where she and her son met me, and he exclaimed, “We have Polar Pop!” He was shushed with a, “Remember, it’s a surprise!” I followed them into the kitchen, and the other two grandkids were grinning ear to ear as they watched their mom hand me a package that had a brand new polar bear in it—the same as Polar Pop looked decades ago. Where on earth had she found the original? She said she thought of the bear’s name out of nowhere, searched and found him. In fact, she found three, and yes, she snatched all three. You know…just in case. 

I couldn’t call this one Polar Pop. It felt wrong. We all discussed the name. Everyone agreed Polar Patty was a great fit. Like me, they had a difficult time imagining Polar Pop once looked like Polar Patty, who had more of a shape, was fluffier, had a tail that wasn’t smashed into him, and had eyes that weren’t hidden by the fur that had been washed many times a year. I happily took Polar Patty home.

But I still missed Polar Pop—especially when I sat Polar Patty on my nightstand.

I wasn’t home long before I had a thought. Polar Pop flattens easily. And the kids sleep with him often. I knew he wasn’t in one of the beds they sleep in, because it had a cover that wouldn’t hide him well, and I’d moved the pillows, looked around and under the bed. I hadn’t looked in the other bed, because my granddaughter had slept with me the last time she stayed over, but the time before that….and that cover was thick and fuzzy, a perfect place for a well-loved bear to hide. Not to mention, it’s where I staged a lot of gift-sorting, so the weight of the boxes and gifts would have hidden him.

I walked into the room and saw no lump. I removed the large stuffed polar bear that always sits on the bed, as well as the multiple pillows, and I pulled back the covers, and who was cozily snuggled in the bed? Polar Pop! Maybe he wanted to be found now that a buddy was waiting for him! 

I made the bed and took him to the nightstand to pose for photos with Polar Patty so I could send updates to my daughter and the kids. Of course, they were thrilled. As was I. As silly as it sounds, I rested a little easier that night.

I was leaving for a trip a few days later, and I thought about not taking Polar Pop. I wasn’t sure I wanted the risk. However, how could I not? I snapped a few photos in the hotel to make sure the kids knew he travelled safely. And when I was boarding my first flight home, and the young girl in the line beside me spied my small polar bear peeking at her and her bigger stuffed polar bear, she was all smiles. After all, stuffed buddies travel with people of all ages.

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