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.
祖父去世時，祖母83歲了，曾經活力四射的她，開始慢慢衰老了。她已無法料理家務，就搬去和我媽媽一起住。充滿愛意的大家庭的其他成員（2個兒女、8個孫兒女、22個曾孫兒女和2個玄孫兒女）經常去看望她。她雖然過得不錯，但若想勾起她對什麽事情的興趣則很難。
三年前，在12月一個寒冷的下午，我帶著8歲的女兒米甘去看“GG”（這是家人對她的稱呼），打算陪她一段時間。她一直盯著米甘懷裏心愛的玩具娃娃。