Coming to Life Again

Our daughter Kathryn was 8 years old when we gave her Kirsten.  Kirsten is an American Girl Doll.  I still remember Kathryn’s gasp when she opened the box on Christmas Eve to find Kirsten waiting inside.  And instantly Kirsten was alive.

Kathryn took her everywhere.  She tended to her hair meticulously.  We had gotten her a couple of outfits, and “getting Kirsten ready,” quickly became a frequent phrase in our home.

Over the next year or so we got Kirsten a few items of furniture.  A bed and dresser, some hangers for outfits, a table and chairs all made by a friend of ours.  Kirsten had her own area in the girls’ bedroom.

Kirsten also came with a set of books about her life in America, having immigrated from Sweden.  Kathryn was struggling to read in those days, and the Kirsten books became a wonderful opportunity to practice reading.  For months, once we had gotten the younger kids to bed at night, Kathryn would bring Kirsten out to the living room and snuggle with her while Kathryn and I took turns, each reading a page at a time, working our way through the Kirsten books. That’s when we discovered that not only were they best friends, but Kathryn and Kirsten also shared the same birthday.

Over the years, Kathryn grew up.  Kirsten did not.  Kirsten still mattered.  For a long time she stayed in a corner of the bedroom, with other special things.  But when high school and college years came, Kirsten was tucked away in a storage container.  Wrapped up in one of her blankets.  Safe.

A year ago we were going through a transition time in our home.  Kids were graduating from college, and others were transferring to colleges further from home.  We were cleaning out some storage areas in the house, encouraging the kids to take what they wanted and get rid of things they didn’t need or want anymore.

While the older kids were all busy going through boxes of memories, 10-y-o Kristall, our youngest at the time, wandered around bored.  Trying to help, trying to find something to do.  She was patient.  But bored.

Midway through the afternoon, Kathryn unpacked the Kirsten container. For a few minutes we both looked at Kirsten, and Kathryn picked up each of her outfits, studying them for a second.

“Mom? Do you think I could give Kirsten to Kristall?” she asked.  Then she reasoned aloud that she had wanted to keep Kirsten, but also realized that Kirsten should be loved.  Not just kept in a box for safekeeping.

I said I thought that was great idea.

I left the room while Kathryn called Kristall in to hand off her beloved Kirsten. I could have guessed how it went. Kathryn explaining to Kristall how much she loved Kirsten when she was Kristall’s age, and telling her a little bit about Kirsten.  Kristall carefully looking through Kirsten’s things, hanging on every word Kathryn said, smiling.  Feeling grown up, entrusted with a most valued friend.

It was a little later that afternoon when I ran downstairs to get something and stumbled upon the tea party.  Kristall had made tea in a small tea pot and had set up two cups and saucers.  She was pretending to spoon sugar into each cup as she visited quietly.  Everyone else was busy upstairs.  It was just the two of them in the dining room, Kristall and Kirsten.  Getting to know each other over a cup of tea.

Kristall was glowing.  She had her legs crossed and was deep in thought listening to Kirsten.  Trying out how it would be to be grown up and visiting with a new friend over tea.

Kirsten’s hair had been brushed, and the smudge cleaned off her cheek.  She was sitting in the chair next to Kristall, obviously sharing a story of some kind.

Unseen, I watched the two of them from the doorway for a minute or two before going back upstairs and telling Kathryn what was happening.  That downstairs, in the dining room, Kirsten was coming to life again.