The Shirley Doll

My mom passed away at age 94, having lived a full and beautiful life. After taking some time to grieve, I pulled myself together and, as Trustee for her estate, started taking care of her affairs. In different waves, I worked with my sister and brother and also with my own kids to meticulously go through all of her belongings. My mom was very organized, there were no piles of old magazines, or stacks of unopened mail lying around. In fact, in her later years, she was always on top of things – no longer the procrastinator she was in my younger years. My mom and I were extremely close, but oddly, I feel like I’ve gotten to know her even better now that she has passed away.

My mom always lived in the present. She didn’t dwell on her childhood, the Great Depression or the war years and while she was the undisputed keeper of our family history – she really only talked about it when one of us asked her. I wish I had asked her more questions and more importantly, I wish that I had written down her answers to those questions and pressed her for more treasured stories so I wouldn’t, and couldn’t forget them later on.

As I cleared out her home of 35 years, there were many things I knew I would find; her silver tea set, the large Imani plate that stood proudly on her living room table, old books inscribed with words like “to dad, with love, Jean” or “all our love, mom and dad”. There were other books that she had as a child and later read to us when we were small; “Little Babs”, “Alice in Wonderland” and “Aesop’s Fables”. I never inscribe little notes in books that I give to people, but as I came to see in the books that my mom saved, those little notes were precious to her and now also to me and my siblings. Having a book with a note to or from her is suddenly so priceless to us. From now on, whenever I give a book to someone, I will write a little note inside the front cover.

Working my way from room to room, I found some things I did not expect to find in my efforts to clear things out. One of those findings was a very large number of empty boxes, the kind you would save so you’d have a box next time you needed to wrap a present. Boxes inside of boxes, neatly stored on closet shelves. As a kid, we were always searching for boxes, big ones, small ones, somehow there were never enough to go around. I guess she decided she’d never go hungry for boxes again and started this huge collection. The funny thing was she would write on the box, “empty”, so she knew there was nothing in it - whatever she was looking for was not in that box. It kind of made me laugh to think she went to that trouble. It had been years since she was able to purchase a gift, put it in a box and wrap it herself - I guess that’s why she ended up with so many boxes on hand.

Another thing I didn’t expect to find was a closet full of clothes she’d never worn. Clothes that were out of the bags, but that still had tags on them and had clearly never been worn. My mom hated to shop. In her later years, she began going to the “in home” clothing line showings. There, she would have someone show her the latest season’s collection, help her try it on for size, and then all she had to do was write a check and the clothes would be shipped to her. I have to say, I was never a fan of what she bought at those showings…I always thought she was more of a Talbots/Nordstrom kind of gal! I guess in the end, she really wasn’t a “collection” fan either, at least judging by the amount of clothes in her closet that she never wore!

My mom also saved each and every card anyone ever gave her! These cards were stored neatly in some of those boxes she had saved. (I can almost hear her say: “see, I knew those boxes would come in handy someday!”) There were literally hundreds of cards; “Happy Birthday Jean – You're not getting older, you’re getting better!”, “Happy Valentine’s Day Mom!” Scrawled out in crayon on a crinkled heart shaped piece of construction paper, a postcard that read “Greetings from Ireland - Wish you were here Gramma”. From what I can tell, she never threw a card or note away – ever! I’m not entirely sure why she saved them all, but I do know that each one, was an expression of love from someone special and they meant the world to her.

It was my brother who found one of my mom’s favorite dolls carefully boxed away. She had a porcelain face with delicate hand painted features and eyelids that moved depending on the position of the doll.  She had blonde, curly hair – which I think was actually real human hair and she had several different outfits dating back to the late 1930’s. She looked just like Shirley Temple. She was well loved and well preserved.

I thought back to a time when I was a little girl. I played with dolls and had a few favorites. I loved Raggedy Ann and for some reason had two Raggedy Ann dolls…one had a blue dress and one had a red dress and then I had a big doll…I don’t remember her name or much else about her, but I really loved her. I took my dolls outside a lot where they got dirty and lost shoes. I colored their nails and lips with red felt pens, “trimmed” their hair and often tried to re-design their clothes, which never turned out well! Needless to say, I wasn’t the best “mommy” a doll could ever have.

I remembered how one day my mom gave me her favorite doll, the one that looked like Shirley Temple. I liked her, but I really didn’t know how to play with her. While I appreciate her much more now, at the time, I felt like the doll was “old fashioned” and too fragile to play with. I was afraid I would break her face if I accidentally dropped her. My friends were not impressed with this old-fashioned doll that couldn’t wet herself or cry or drink from a baby bottle. Consequently, I didn’t take very good care of her, often moving her to the back of my closet when I had to clean my room. I feel bad that I didn’t love the Shirley doll as much as my mom did. I’m sure she wondered how someone could not love that doll or not want to play with the doll or take care of her. I guess at some point my mom took her back…which I don’t even remember.

Many years later, when I had a daughter of my own, my mom brought out the Shirley doll again. This time she said, “let’s get her fixed up a bit and then maybe Sally will like her”. My mom found a company that specialized in antique doll restoration and she had them return Shirley to her original glory. I could tell my mom was excited, but unfortunately, my daughter wasn’t much of a doll girl. I should have known the Shirley doll wouldn’t be a big hit with Sally. We bought her an “American Girl” doll at one point, but she never really wanted her…she just didn’t want to be the only girl without one. Once again, Shirley sat untouched and buried under clothes and other toys in my daughter’s chaotic room. Quietly, my mom took the Shirley doll back and my daughter never missed her.

I hadn’t thought about the doll in years. It was only after my brother opened the box and lifted the tissue that protected the beautiful face, that I remembered her. It was only now, that I understood the meaning of the doll. Through all my packing and sorting, I learned a lot about my mom. Her love of family and friends was the most important thing in the world to her. I came to understand that my mom and my grandfather had a special connection. My grandfather died when I was very young, so I really didn’t get to see them interact very much – at least not that I remember. And, since my mom didn’t talk much about her younger days, it wasn’t something that was obvious. I learned that my mom was one of her father’s greatest joys. I found out he nicknamed her “Pinkie” as a little girl, something I never knew before. He was a camera buff back in the day and he took countless pictures of his little girl. She gave him the prettiest smiles. They say a picture paints a thousand words…I learned a lot from those old photos.

My mom’s father gave her the Shirley doll - she loved her father and she loved the doll. Knowing what I know now, about how close my mom was with her father and that he gave her the doll, I can now see why it was so important to her to pass Shirley along. She wanted to pass down that love – she didn’t mean for the doll to be someone’s new toy necessarily, but she wanted us to feel what she did. I wish I had taken the time to understand what the doll meant to my mom when I was younger…it would have changed the way I looked at things – at least by the time my daughter came along.

It all makes sense to me now…why my mom loved her doll and wanted to share her with us. As much as I wish I could have shared her love for the Shirley doll, it shows that no matter how much we may love a person, without a little back story, sometimes the material things don’t make the transition of time. The Shirley doll may never make it to dolly fame again and she may never grace a shelf in a little girl’s room. Truly, she shouldn’t be played with like a regular kid’s toy, but she can hold a place somewhere for the bond between a father and a daughter. Now that I know how much the doll meant to my mom, and I understand what she was trying to do, I will make sure that anywhere the doll goes, there will be an understanding of who she belonged to and what she meant to a little girl named, Jean. I will make sure the Shirley doll lives on in my family and is preserved for generations to come. It’s the least I can do for my mom.