Granny- the keeper of all of my yesterdays
There is a small doll sitting on my desk right now. She is worn. Her fabric has aged. Time has softened every inch of her. And yet somehow… she still feels like home. Her name is Granny. My Grandma gave her to me when I was six months old. She found her at a nursing home sale, tucked beside a tiny little canopy bed that made her seem impossibly elegant to my baby eyes. Even then, before I could explain emotions in words, I knew Granny was different. She was never just another toy. Other dolls came and went. Barbies lost shoes. Stuffed animals disappeared into closets. Toys were traded, donated, forgotten. Not Granny. She stayed close. When we went on vacations, Granny came too. Camping trips? Packed. Sleepovers? Absolutely. Teenage years filled with invisible storms and growing pains? Still there. Even when I was “too old” to need a comfort object, I brought her anyway. Just in case. Just in case I got scared. Just in case the world felt too sharp. Just in case ...