Maxzyne Meets the Mannequins

Returning the Gift

I bought my mother a doll this week. A wide-eyed rubber baby doll with rosebud lips, wearing a nubby pink and white sleeper. She giggles when you press her tummy. The purchase was bittersweet. I will be visiting my mom and wanted to bring her a gift. She is now in a late stage of Alzheimer's, her foggy brain in reversal, its clock cruelly turned back, her actions now resembling early childhood. I remembered that a friend's mother, suffering from the same terrible disease years earlier, had loved a baby doll she had been given. As I chose this particular doll, it brought back happy memories of my own doll-playing days. I loved visiting my grandmother who saved all of my mother's toys, including her dolls. They were lovely, in the old-fashioned vintage style of the 1940's with sculpted hair and feathery lashes framing crystal blue eyes that opened and closed. Handmade dresses, crocheted pajamas and assorted accessories made for hours of imaginative fun. I'm feeling both sad and excited to give it to her. Somehow there is something sacred about completing this circle together.