As I sat down on the park bench there
was an older woman rocking a baby in a carriage across the way. She smiled
intently at her charge, completely consumed by the child, and oblivious to her
surroundings. She worshipped the child. I speculated that this must have been
her grandchild considering the obviously deep emotional ties she had developed
with the baby. The carriage was not of a modern design, and certainly not the type
that young mothers jogged along with, but rather the large, cumbersome, old-fashioned
type used in the 1950’s. It had been well taken care of and was clean and
polished to a shine. The woman had long grey hair that was swept up in a bun
and you could see the crags and valleys that had eroded her beauty and
weathered her face with deep lines like the road map of a difficult arduous journey.
The old
woman reached into the carriage to lift the child, being ever so careful not to
startle or disturb it. As the infant was elevated, I noticed a strange lack of effect
in the child, with its outstretched arms frozen in space not flailing around as
a baby might do. The baby’s cheeks had an unusual pallor or more accurately a
strange sheen. Suddenly the baby’s eyes opened with a click. The deep blue
glass balls shone brightly in the sun, and it was then that I realized that it
was a doll. The old woman did not notice this though. In her mind’s eye she was
a new young mother learning to care for her child and obsessing over the
details as a first time mother might do. She did not realize that if her baby
had lived the child would now be an adult, possibly with children of her own and
the woman would be a grandmother. She smiled intently with a deep love for this
substitute for the child that did not live. After the wrinkles were removed
from the blanket the woman carefully put the doll back into the carriage and tucked
the baby in. The woman rose now, pushing the carriage back home as it was time
for the baby’s bottle and a nap.
Jim Nov 22’
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