One of my best childhood memories of visiting at my grandmother’s house is sitting in the middle of her big double bed, playing with two china head dolls. Those dolls would be over a hundred years old now, easily.
One was a baby doll, with no hair and a frilly dress. Her eyes closed when you laid her down and when they opened I remember the most beautiful blue glass eyes. Her cheeks were chubby and had just the perfect blush to them.
The other doll was a child doll, with long brown ringlets and a green dress. Although I played with them both, it’s the baby doll that brings back the best memories.
My Aunt took care of my grandmother in her later years, and the dolls passed to her side of the family when my grandmother died. My Aunt has long since passed away, as has her only daughter.
I’ve been trying for some time to get up the nerve to deal with family members I haven’t talked to in years, in hopes of getting that baby doll back for myself. It seems so selfish to call someone up I barely know and ask them to give me something of such value, but the value for me is not monetary, but priceless.
Maybe writing this will bolster my courage to actually try to get her back.