“Have you got it wrapped, huh?” Dolores asked.

“Yes,” Nora replied while handing the gift-wrapped box to Dolores. “Sorry for being too late. The traffic was awful.”

“You got me all upset from waiting too long! Let’s hurry! Mom is in her room!”

They were sisters, 2 remaining in a brood of 10. Their mother, Lucinda, was 13 when she was selected to be in an arranged marriage. The boy just turned 18, making him eligible for the military draft. Being neighbors, both parents decided to get him hitched to avoid being sent abroad to fight in a war.

“But I don’t know what to do, Mother,” the 13-year old moaned, clutching one of the dolls that were spread out on her bed.

“That’s alright, child,” the mother replied, patting her head. “Noel is a good boy and he’ll take good care of you.”

He didn’t get drafted. She bore him 10 children, Dolores being the youngest. Noel was not only caring, but also dutiful in providing the needs of the large family. Unfortunately, he passed away, succumbing to a progressive disease. Heartbroken, Lucinda mourned and could have continued wearing black had it not been for their parish priest convincing her that 15 years of grieving was far too long. She could have remarried too, but her love for Noel had not faded, it had grown stronger instead.

Nora, a year older than Dolores, always made time to visit their mother despite her tight work and family schedule.

“I think it is time to send Mother to an assisted facility, Dolly,” Nora said.

“Nope! Mom needs me and she better damn well continue to stay in this house with me and my family!” she hastened to reply. “Besides, it might just break her heart! There are still a few things in this house that will help trigger her memory.”

“I know, Dolly, but it is a memory care facility for residents suffering from dementia,” she pleaded.

Their mother’s condition rapidly deteriorating, Dolly relented later. They found a nearby facility for her.

“Hi, Mom!” cried Dolores as they entered their mother’s room. They took turns hugging her who was seated in a rocking chair.

Their presence drew a blank stare, a mild stroke-related facial paralysis compounding the stolid look. Her serene face was framed by grey curls that escaped the staff’s care in gathering all strands in a bun in the back.

“We have something for you, Mom,” Dolores said as she offered the gift-wrapped box.

Lucinda’s gnarled and bony hands removed the ribbon and the wrapper, Dolores catching them before they hit the floor. Inside was a cloth doll. In spite of the faded colors, it looked fine and in good condition.

“Grandpa gave her that doll when she was 5,” Nora whispered to Dolores. “And, thank you for finding it in the attic. It took some time for the antique doll repair store to refine it.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Dolores replied. “She loved that doll. It was her favorite.”

They both stared at their mother, hoping that the doll would conjure up the associated memories.

Lucinda checked the doll up and down. Her fingers traced it until they reached a button serving as one of the doll’s eyes. She held the doll closer to inspect the 4-hole button. She lifted the side of the button and noticed that the thread looked new as it held the button in place. She stiffened for a second and then looked up, her eyes moving back and forth rapidly. She realized that the button was loose when she last held the doll at age 13!

A faint, one-sided smile formed as she turned her face toward her daughters.

Nora and Dolores looked at each other, their visions blurring with tears.