Never forget where you’ve been. Never lose sight of where you’re going. And never take for granted the people who travel the journey with you. (Susan Gale)
As I went through a box of the collector dolls I gave my mother, I only remembered two of them, curly-haired blond kissing dolls I bought in Metamora, Indiana at least fifteen years ago. Mom displayed them on a table my father designed, instead of locking them in a china cabinet with the others. Apart, the two figures appear contorted, arms twisted, faces lifted, mouths eager, fish-like. Together, they symbolized young love.
I’m not sure I saw them as symbols of my parents when I purchased the porcelain pair. All I knew was that as a child Mom had collector dolls that had been lost. (It’s a long story that doesn’t matter anymore.) I tried to fill that void. Kissing dolls felt appropriate. After my mother died, the pair sat poised in the same position for ten more years. Together, as if Mom, the love of Dad’s life were still with him.
The dolls old-fashioned green-and-white cotton clothing aged in the dust and air, even if their young features didn’t. I managed to get the stains removed. However, I stopped trying to redress the girl when a few stitches from the lace at the neck tore. Her rigid arms couldn’t bend. My hands felt almost as stiff as the porcelain. I decided to try later, or ask someone without arthritic fingers.
I discovered later that I didn’t need to ask anyone. Granddaughter Kate and a neighbor, nine-year-old Hannah, worked together to get our partially dressed doll ready for her long-time puckered companion. Apparently completing a task impossible for me, was so easy for Kate and Hannah they didn’t think to tell me they had done it.
The girls didn’t seem to notice the contorted forms of the pair when separated. They saw what was supposed to be, not my symbols. Their wisdom belongs to their own time, not mine. I am grateful for my young people as they are. Now.
The dolls remind me of the importance of balance and flexibility. Sure, my past is important. It taught, and not all of those seeds have taken full root. Perhaps. sometime before this journey is completed, my path will appear clearer. When do I give up, and when do I simply try harder? It’s not always easy to tell. That’s why it’s such a gift to have loving companions along the way.
As part of her inheritance Kate grabbed a large old doll I’m sure I didn’t give my mother—it came from Germany long before I was born. Little Rebe wanted something cuddly. Ella was more interested in a snack. Priorities change in time, preferably accepted slowly, savored. Lived each moment as it occurs.
And in that acceptance, blessed.
terrypetersen 