Finally， our creation was finished. To our eyes it was perfect. But， of course， there was no way it could be exactly like the doll GG had loved so much and lost. Would she think it looked anything like it？
On Christmas Eve， Meagan and I carried our gaily wrapped gift to GG， where she sat surrounded by children， parents， aunts， uncles， cousins. “It’s for you，” Meagan said， “but first you have to read the story that goes with it.”
“Read it out loud.” one of the other children demanded. GG no sooner got through the first page than her voice cracked and she was unable to go on， but Meagan took over where she left off. Then it was time to open her present.
I’ll never forget the look on GG’s face as she lifted the doll and held it to her chest. Once again her tears fell， but this time they were tears of joy. Cradling the doll in her frail arms， she repeated over and over again， “She’s exactly like my old doll， exactly like her.”
And perhaps she wasn’t just saying that to be kind. Perhaps however impossible it seemed， we had managed to produce a close facsimile of the doll she remembered. But as I watched my eight-year-old daughter and her great-grandmother examining the doll together， I thought of a likelier explanation. What GG recognized， perhaps， was the love that inspired the gift. And love， wherever it comes from， always looks the same.
祖父去世时，祖母83岁了，曾经活力四射的她，开始慢慢衰老了。她已无法料理家务，就搬去和我妈妈一起住。充满爱意的大家庭的其他成员（2个儿女、8个孙儿女、22个曾孙儿女和2个玄孙儿女）经常去看望她。她虽然过得不错，但若想勾起她对什么事情的兴趣则很难。
三年前，在12月一个寒冷的下午，我带着8岁的女儿米甘去看“GG”（这是家人对她的称呼），打算陪她一段时间。她一直盯着米甘怀里心爱的玩具娃娃。