The air smelled like leather, fried food, and gasoline. Engines screamed all around us, generating a lot of noise and mayhem that blocked out everything but the pounding in my chest. We were at a charity biker rally for a good cause, yet it felt like I was in an other world. I was surrounded by steel, deafening noise, and people who had been through things I couldn’t even begin to understand.
My niece Riley was with me. She was seven, with large eyes and shoelaces that weren’t fastened. She wore a hoodie that was two sizes too big and hugged her old teddy bear like it was a gem. I had already questioned her why she was so determined to bring it. She just shrugged and said, “I think someone else might need it more than I do today.”
Back then, I didn’t think much of it. That’s something youngsters say. But I would soon understand that she saw something I couldn’t.
As we walked by the food trucks, I saw him sitting by himself on the curb. He was really big, with a braided beard and a leather vest that fit snugly over his big shoulders. Even though the patch on his breast said “Lucky,” there was no luck in the way he sat. He seemed like he was doing everything he could to hold it all together. He had his head down and his elbows on his knees. His sunglasses hid whatever storm was going on behind them. There was noise and movement all around him, but he felt strangely calm, as if the commotion didn’t bother him.
Riley grabbed my hand and exclaimed, “That’s him.”
“Who?” I said.
“The one who looks sad but is strong.”
I couldn’t stop her from going right over to him. There was a tiny kid with dirty shoes and messy hair standing in front of a man who seemed like he hadn’t let anyone get close to him in a long time. He looked up, not knowing what to do, and then he put his head down again. Riley didn’t do anything.
She remarked, “You seem like you need a hug.” “But my teddy bear is better at those things than I am.”
It was the kind of moment that made it hard to breathe.
He didn’t respond right away. He just stood there and stared at her. Then he carefully reached out, as if he was afraid the bear would break. Once he received the bear, he hugged it to his chest. His shoulders began to tremble. It was hard to see at first. Then it became more difficult. And then he wept.
Not too loud. Not in a major manner. He had to take off his sunglasses because they were leaking quiet, steady tears. His eyes were really hurting. Deep. The pain is quite strong and won’t go away.
A woman who was close by touched my arm. She had seen it too. She whispered softly, “That’s Marcus.” “His daughter died a few months ago.” Car accident. It was Daisy. She used to have a bear like that.
The name patch made sense now. Best of luck. He presumably picked the name a long time ago, before grief rendered it bitter.
He held the bear and didn’t say anything for a while. Riley didn’t move or ask for it back, not even once. Just being there. Finally, he wiped his face, glanced at her, and pulled something out of his pocket. It was a small silver charm in the shape of a four-leaf clover. He gave it to her.
He answered, “It’s good luck.” “Be careful with it.”
Then he got up and left, holding the teddy bear in his arms. He disappeared into the crowd as if he had just been there.
Weeks passed. After that, months passed. Riley put the silver clover in her jewelry box, where it stayed unused but always on her mind. One afternoon, there was a letter. Just an envelope. Address to mail stuff back to a treatment institution.
He sent it.
That day he told me he didn’t know how to say thank you. That teddy bear that Riley gave him brought something out of him that he had hidden deep. Yes, it reminded him of Daisy. But also love. And hope. He thought he didn’t deserve such love and hope anymore.
The letter said, “You gave me more than a teddy bear.” “You gave me hope.” “I’m trying to be a person Daisy would be proud of.”
It had an image inside. A little kid with a wide grin. The hair of the child is blonde. She has a tooth missing in the front of her mouth. A teddy bear in her hands. Daisy.
Riley sat on the floor and looked at the photo for a long time. Then she murmured quietly, “She looks happy.”
For a long time, Riley thought about that day. Not just as a memory, but as a goal. Years later, Riley became a counselor for those who were grieving. She told the story of Marcus and the teddy bear a lot, not to get pity but to prove that it was genuine. Even the smallest act of compassion can help someone who is hurting a lot.
People never saw Marcus again during the rallies. But stories spread. He didn’t have any drinks. He opened a small center to support families who had lost kids. A place where you didn’t have to hide your hurt. Someone remarked the emblem looked like a four-leaf clover with flames around it.
A sign that you are alive. This is both a sign of loss and a sign of optimism that has been rekindled.
One little girl noticed a man who seemed sad but powerful and handed him her teddy bear. That’s how it all started.
