As I've been packing my things, I've been making little discoveries about the house. I found this one hidden away in a linen closet. Never mind that Dollygram misspelled my mom's last name. I didn't know she and her parents ever lived at that location in Elmhurst. Weird.
I was curious, so I opened the box and discovered this:
Still wrapped in plastic. If you can't see, it says HAPPY BIRTHDAY. I wonder which birthday that was for, and I wonder if she ever saw it. That it was still wrapped in plastic suggested that she hadn't, or at the very least she never opened it. And now here it is, decades later, hidden in the linen closet.
I felt kind of weird looking at this thing, like I'd opened a coffin. Very few things are sadder than a toy that has never been played with. It's kind of like Hemingway's baby shoes. That's the first thing I thought of while looking at Mom's doll.
I wonder if Western Union still does things like this. Probably not.
Am I the only one feeling creeped out and melancholy about that second picture?
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