I have cherished her as long as I can remember. Since the Christmas morning I rocked her in my new red rocking chair. She was my constant companion throughout my childhood. A witness to some of the horrors. The only comfort at times. I mistreated her at times -- unintentionally of course.
She came with a pink plastic crib. Dressed in a pink gingham bubble suit. Over the years those were lost, and the mother made more clothes for her. As a teenager, I still gave her a place of honor in my room.
She moved with me when I married. And I allowed my daughter to occasionally play with her. But she was mine.
Not long after the diagnosis of PTSD and beginning to unravel my past, I found a doll doctor. A lovely lady who did repairs from her home and treated these beings with the honor they deserved.
It was difficult having her away from me, but when she returned it was worth it. She was refreshed. She was getting a second chance. And maybe I was too. It was turning point for both of us.
She is cherished still. She sits in a place of honor at my tea table. She and I have traveled long and treacherous roads together.
And we have miles to go before we sleep.
linking up with Five Minute Friday