We received our silly “Bouncin’ Snowman” in the mail circa 2004; a Christmas gift from my mom’s second cousin, Gwen. He stood about 15 inches tall, dressed in a red fur Santa-like jacket and green mittens and green hat. He wore a red and green and white scarf, which fell just below a big smile and a carrot nose.
This snowman also had skills. With the words “Press Here” stitched on his left hand, we did just that and off he went into a goofy song singing “I am a snowman, catch me if you can, I’m a bouncin’ snowman yes I am…” making small hopping movements as he sang. But the surprise came at the end when he did a big jump forward, scaring all of us the first time.
It was hysterical; not only because this little novelty toy was so adorable, but that it had come from our 80-something year old relative. Gwen had an excellent sense of humor but was also old school, believing in proper etiquette always and not shying away from expressing her views on “how things should be done.”
Through the years, this silly little snowman grew and grew on us; except our dog, Charlie. She hated the snowman and his sewn-on smile. We placed it in a prominent position near the tree, and one of us might start it while walking by. Without fail, Charlie always stood up barking at it, trying to nip its toes and then quickly backing away.
More years passed, and the snowman, this toy, kept bouncing for us as soon as we unpacked it from the Christmas decoration boxes. Turning him on was one sign the season was here. Charlie passed in 2010. We couldn’t believe the snowman was still singing.
We told Gwen once that the silly snowman had become a fun family tradition, and he never failed to bring laughs and smiles (with guests too!) and we thanked her. This brought her happiness. She lived in California, so it wasn’t possible for her to see the little guy in person.
Gwen’s health started to fail, but she was such a strong woman, she celebrated her 92, 95, 97th birthdays. But this past August, at age 99, the indomitable Gwen passed away. Her son proposed a Zoom memorial with the various cousins, where we shared several loving stories about her.
And then December arrived. I unpacked our Bouncin’ Snowman and stood him in the same spot as always and went on to decorate the tree. Suddenly, however, it was mid-December, and I realized I hadn’t watched him sing or dance yet.
I pressed “Press Here” but there was no song, no movement. Alarmed, I played with the on/off switch, and I changed the batteries. I played with the wire between his belly and mitten. Silence.
Our silly animated holiday snowman was gone. On one hand, it had lived longer than we could have possibly imagined; about 21 years. But the timing was slightly unnerving. He lasted exactly as long as Gwen had lived from the time of giving us the gift. That’s some synchronicity.
I’m not over-the-top heartbroken. I mean, this was just a toy, right? I was sad, however, that I couldn’t see him in motion one last time while remembering Gwen; the person responsible for all those family memories. If I didn’t know better, I would think that this silly snowman had just a little bit of soul which needed to leave when Gwen did.
His song and spirit are somewhere else now, but we are grateful for Gwen’s long life and what turned out to be, her timeless gift.
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