While shopping for the endless supply of diapers and baby snacks that has become our life, I saw the most incredible toy. Our little one didn't notice it yet, but it was just too awesome to let him miss out. I reached toward the red, fuzzy doll when I suddenly saw our little guy look my way. His eyes lit up to see a real live Elmo doll right before him. One of the biggest smiles I've ever seen came across his face as he reached excitingly toward Elmo. Then I pushed the button on Elmo's back, and our baby laughed and eagerly grabbed Elmo while he watched the doll move and talk. This was the perfect toy. Yes, it was expensive. With a $60 price tag, this would be the most expensive toy he has had in his short life, but how could I not get it? I don't remember ever seeing him this excited about a toy. I briefly thought about putting Elmo back on the shelf, but then our little one gave Elmo, and the box he came in, a huge hug. He looked up at me with an excited smile on his face as if to say "Thank you Mommy". That was the deciding factor. Elmo Live came home with us that day.
Our toddler and Elmo became pretty good friends. He would drag Elmo to Daddy, then to Mommy, and back to Daddy. He held the mechanical arm as Elmo tried to give him hugs. While Elmo was telling stories, he pried open Elmo's mouth to see how wide it would open. I was quite amazed at Elmo's durability, but he just couldn't stand up to our toddler. Eventually Elmo couldn't finish his stories. He forgot what he was trying to say mid sentence. He froze while dancing, then stood up tall and stared straight ahead as if he forgot where he was and what he was doing. He would freak out and throw himself on the ground. Elmo had developed Alzheimer's disease. There was nothing we could do for him except let him live out the remainder of his battery life in our home. As the days passed, Elmo sat alone for increasingly longer stretches of time. Eventually, we forgot about Elmo. Life went on, and lonely Elmo watched on.
One morning, while our little one was napping, I went through his toys to decide what he doesn't play with anymore and should be donated, and what we should keep. I came across Elmo and stared into his vacant eyes as I recalled the utter joy he brought our family. But alas, he was a broken toy and was causing clutter. I reached to put Elmo in the bag and my mind wandered to my Grandma.
My Grandma was the foundation my life was built on. Whenever I had trouble, Grandma was there and she always knew just how to make me feel better. She sacrificed her life to make me happy. She stayed up all night when I was sick. She never followed her dreams in order to be there for her children and grandchildren. She stopped whatever she was doing to play with me. And then, one day she just couldn't play any more. She spent a lot of time staring vacantly at the wall, and sometimes forgot who I was. Grandma stayed home as long as the family could care for her, but eventually she needed more help than we could give and was moved into a skilled nursing facility.
Grandma was a lot like Elmo. She didn't have Alzheimer's, but did have bouts of dementia and as time went by became weaker and weaker. Did we give her away simply because she was broken? When did the one I love become clutter in our house? Rationally, I know we made the right decision. Grandma received care in the home that none of us could provide. It was the best thing for her. But that doesn't alleviate the guilt. Whether or not Grandma can play anymore, I still love her. Do I want to teach my child that we throw out the ones we love just because they don't work like they used to? How is he going to treat his Grandparents, or even his parents when we become broken? Will we be thought of as clutter? With tears streaming down my face I lovingly placed Elmo on the shelf among my boy's most cherished toys. I'm sure he will be happy to hold Elmo in his arms once again. Elmo may be broken, but he is still treasured.
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