She was my best friend. She helped me through my father’s second divorce and the death of my older sister. My best friend, whom I met when I was three, also had a stuffed cow. Both of ours were named Moo Moo, and they often ‘played’ together. We are currently estranged, since we took two completely different paths towards adulthood.
When I was ten my grandma fell and broke her hip, and I was going to visit her at her house for a sleep over. I remember packing Moo Moo in the side pocket of my duffle bag, but when I got there I couldn’t find it. We searched everywhere, outside her house, the car, our own house, but we never found it.
This was also the last time I could remember my grandma ever being lucid before falling into such a horrible state of dementia that she sometimes didn’t remember who I was.
I really could have used Moo Moo all the way to now. There is just something about her that made me feel better. My parents have bought me many cow things to try and make me feel better, but I would just like my cow. I would give anything to have her back.
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Originally posted [postdate format=”M j, Y”]