It was very early morning, maybe 5:00 a.m. and there I sat in the bahnhof in Wiesbaden, Germany with tears streaming down my face as I consoled my hysterical five year old daughter. A few people walked past, no doubt, wondering why we were crying. We were leaving for Paris in a short while and my daughter had just left her backpack on the bus we rode to the train station. She had books, money and art supplies in that backpack, but we didn’t much care about those things. It was her beloved Winnie the Pooh that had us grieving.  When she was about 18 months old, she became obsessed…