I know that I already blogged like an hour ago but consider this last night’s blog.
My Grandmother used to send me presents every day. Little toys, dolls, jelwery… She just showed me these little porcelain dolls she once bought but never gave to me. AS I held them I recognized their design and placed their features and curls among the many dolls I received from her in my memory. But this time- I felt nothing. Holding them didn’t elicit any emotion like I know it used to. I remember first the pleasure at my little girly presents and then the embarrassment at my little girly presents. And finally the resentment, that I was expected to enjoy these little girly presents at my level of maturity. But this time…nothing… only a small moment of nostalgia for the times when toys and dolls held enough power to stir up internal reactions.
And then, what felt the most foreign was that she didn't try to give them to me. I couldn't feel for myslef so instead I felt for her. How sad it must be to have to accept that your little girl isn't a little girl... She didn't even try, she didn't even try to pretend, she knows now...