Champion Ted

Champion Ted began long before it had a name. It started one Mother’s Day with a gift—a teddy bear

My mum’s chemo had been especially difficult in the weeks leading up to that day, and it seemed likely she’d spend Mother’s Day in bed. As I made the usual trip to Meadowhall to pick up her favourite marzipan and chocolate, I found myself reflecting on how hard her illness had been lately. I wanted to get her something that would remind her every day that, no matter how tough things got, she wasn’t alone. I wanted her to know that even when it felt like her treatment had her on the ropes, I was always there, in her corner.

In one of the shops, I stumbled upon a pair of small pink boxing gloves meant to hang from a car’s rearview mirror. Immediately, I was inspired, and I set out to find a teddy bear that could wear them. When Mum unwrapped the gift and saw the bear—soft, pink, and fluffy, wearing his shiny pink gloves—she burst into tears. In that moment, Ted became a symbol of everything I wanted to say but couldn’t quite find the words for. He was a reminder that, even in the hardest moments, she wasn’t alone, and she always had something to hold onto when life felt heavy. Something that didn’t break under the weight of her illness. As my mum navigated her treatment, the ups and downs, the good days and the not-so-good ones, that bear always sat nearby.