Knots of Love
a story of lost, then found
by Cheryl Mousseau

The red and blue Transformer bags moved down the belt and halted beneath the airport scanner.
“Sir, we’ll need to inspect these bags.”
The security guard unzipped our sons’ carryon bags, packed with their most prized possessions. There were the wooden pistols, purchased at Epcot Center in Disneyworld. It was 1985. But even then, years before 9/11, anything resembling a weapon could not be packed in a carry on. They were wooden. They were toys. But rules were rules. We would have to check them.
Hurriedly my husband grabbed the bags and raced back to check them before the plane boards while I try to explain to a 4 and 6 year old that they will get their bags back again once we land in Boston.
It was Steve and John’s first trip to Disney and now, after a memorable, week long vacation, we were heading home. Having to check the carryons seemed to be a minor inconvenience. However, the problems were just beginning. The bags never made it to Boston.
By this point, we realized that “Buddy” was missing. Buddy was in the Transformer bag. Buddy was Steve’s blanket. Well it used to be a blanket. When he was born, it was crib sized, with white satin binding. Six years later, Buddy was a long rag, held together with knots and love.
The ride home from the airport without the red and blue bags was not happy. Still, the airport personnel had reassured us that the bags would be hand delivered to NH that evening. Bedtime came. No bags. No Buddy.
Steve had been brave until now but he never went to sleep without Buddy. Tears filled his eyes as I told him confidently that Buddy was safe and would be delivered soon.
However, I kept calling the airport. Now frantic, my patience wearing thin, the calm saneness was replaced with irrational behavior that erupts when mothers find themselves in a situation where they have no idea how to help their child.
“What do you mean you have no idea where the Transformer bags are?” I snapped.
“Ma’am, as soon as they show up, we will notify you and they will be driven directly to your house. We’re sorry for the inconvenience.”
“Inconvenience!” My voice was pitching higher.
“Do you understand that a child cannot go to sleep? My son needs his Buddy!”
The next day came….with no bags and no Buddy. Two days, three days and by now Steve had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. I had dark circles under MY eyes from lack of sleep.
Finally the call came on the fourth day. The Transformer bags had been located. Buddy was on his way home. Our trip to Disney was memorable. Steve’s coonskin cap hung on this bedpost with that wooden gun for a long time. But Buddy remained tucked under his pillow for an even longer time.
That was 24 years ago but I can still remember the trauma of “losing Buddy”.Sometime after, the long rag, separated into two pieces, still each held together with knots and love. One piece seemed more special than the other but both still reside, safely hidden, in the back of Steve’s old dresser drawer in our house.