Woody moved out last weekend. After living with us for four years, he packed his bags and walked out the door. He didn't even say goodbye. He just left. And he took Buzz Lightyear and Cowgirl Jessie with him.
I still remember the day Woody moved in. It was Christmas morning, just after Eric's third birthday. Santa brought him during the night and he was waiting under the tree when we woke up. Everyone was thrilled to meet him, especially Eric.
Eric has been watching Toy Story all summer.
Over. And Over. And Over.
He knew all the lines. "There's a snake in my boot!" Eric would scream before collapsing to the floor in giggles. No one was surprised when Eric sat on Santa's lap and whispered in his ear "May I have a Cowboy Woody, Please." Of course, Santa said yes.
It all started out so beautiful. Woody and Eric became best friends. Woody slept in Eric's bed, most often squashed beneath him. They played together every day and shared secrets. Eric even wrote his name on the bottom of Woody's brown boot - in permanent marker.
I guess I thought it would last forever. I thought nothing would ever change. I believed the magic would never end. Only it didn't turn out that way.
Eric stopped watching Toy Story and became infatuated with Spider Man. Woody never said anything but I'm sure he was jealous.
Then Woody moved out of Eric's bed. He claimed he was more comfortable sleeping in the toy box with the other action figures. But I suspect he really missed staying up past bed time and singing songs with Eric.
Eventually, they drifted apart.
When the final breakup came, Eric and Woody shook hands amicably and went their separate ways. Cowgirl Jessie and Buzz collected their gear, sighed and waved goodbye.
Nobody shed a tear.
Except me.
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