Earlier this week my mom attached longer hair to Carmen’s dolly. Using her own hairbrush, Carmen cooed and babbled as she brushed the dolly’s strands.

I haven’t seen it in days. And Carmen is asking for it.

I searched the house, especially the very low and very high places that we might not have checked before. No dolly.

I searched outside. No dolly.

I searched the car. No dolly, although I did find a pair of pink shoes.

I think Matt took Carmen, David, and the dolly on a stroller ride to a playground earlier this week, and I’m afraid they came home with one less passenger.

I’m hoping they played at the park near the school, where maybe a teacher would have found the dolly, dusted it off, and taken it the school office.

I’m in a near-panic mode, ready to scour the neighborhood and put up fliers.

Carmen is a little curious, but not worried. She assumes it’ll turn up.
I think she isn’t worried because she’s never lost anything for very long. She’s never even lost a balloon to the sky. I think I remember every balloon and toy I ever lost. I remember the heartache.
I know I can’t, but I wish I could protect Carmen from that forever. I hope this isn’t a first.