When I first told my mother that I was about to open my own police station, I did so with pride and optimism. I saw it as a major milestone, a responsibility to my community. Naturally, I expected gifts—plaque, a coffee mug, something to commemorate the occasion. What I did not expect was a simple knitted teddy bear.
I walked into her house, expecting something symbolic. Instead, she held out that bear—small, hand-stitched, with button eyes and yarn fur. Confused, I said, “Mum, I’m too old for a teddy bear.” I saw amusement in her eyes and a quiet firmness in her voice. “Firstly, you’re not,” she said softly. “No one ever is. Secondly, it’s not for you. It’s a trauma bear—for any kid you think needs it.”
I must have looked incredulous. She smiled. “You’ll understand,” she said. And I did—but not right away.
The First Bear: A Lesson in Empathy
Three months later, I found myself in a difficult situation. I was responding to a call involving a frightened little boy. Amidst flashing lights and blaring sirens, chaos all around, I spotted a small, trembling teddy bear in my police truck. It was immediately clear: that bear was his only tangible comfort in a terrifying moment.
I knelt down beside him and said, “Would you like to keep this bear safe?” His eyes were large, tear-filled—but yes, he nodded. Clutching the bear tightly, he calmed. His world may have been falling apart in that moment, but holding a soft, gentle object helped anchor him. The bear—my mother’s bear—was no longer just a gift. It was fulfilling its purpose.
Watching him walk home that night, bear in hand, I felt a quiet awe. That moment made me see not just my mum’s kindness, but a deeper calling.
More Than a Teddy: A Quilt, Mittens, Healing
Over time, Mom’s giving transformed into a kind of quiet mission. She began knitting and sewing for people whose pain didn’t show on the outside:
- Quilts for recovering addicts: In the bitter chill of withdrawal, no one should feel cold, she thought. Each quilt carries warmth—not just of fabric, but of love, of dignity.
- Booties & mittens for premature babies: Tiny infants, fragile and vulnerable, need something gentle to protect them in their fight to survive.
- Trauma bears for crime victims: When people, especially children, experience violence or loss, they deserve something soft, something real, to hold—something that says, you matter.
There’s something in the stitching, she says. A kind of magic, perhaps. Some might call it love. Others might say it’s grandma-magic. Either way, those stitches carry intention.
Behind Every Stitch: Why It Matters
Our world sees strength in uniforms, badges, commands. But what happens when you face trauma? What do you grip when your hands shake? We don’t often ask those questions. But Mom did—quietly, gently.
Her gifts became more than objects: they became bridges. A teddy bear whispered you’re safe. A quilt murmured you’re not alone. Each piece was a message that someone cared.
I remember the day I delivered more bears and quilts to families who had lost something precious. I snapped a photo—just me, standing by boxes piled high with gifts. I thought of her: the woman who never sought praise, who made these things when no one asked, who believed stitched yarn could carry healing.
Mom isn’t on Facebook, so if someone messages me, I’ll pass on the gratitude. But I want people to know: this isn’t just about a knitted bear. It’s about human connection, about small gestures in great darkness, about remembering that we’re all children at heart.
My hero is Mom. She taught me that courage isn’t just in confronting danger—it’s in offering comfort. It’s in saying, I see your pain. It’s in handing something soft and whispering, you matter.