A/N: Doing a full overhaul by editing the work. Expect me back in the writing mood soon. (Will be deleted)
I carefully inspect my work for imperfections. I soon find that the left eye's lashes were lacking. With brush in hand I lightly dab it with ink. Gently I make a main line, then, I make many individual lashes. I grin, trying to make my vision of what my grandchildren could look like. When I finish, I stand up and look at the boy in front of me. He's not finished and I don't plan on it. Not unless I can see my new grandsons' eyes and hair.
The good news came a few months back. My son sent me a letter telling me his wife was pregnant with twin boys. With this news I wrote back giving my joy. I also asked if I could do anything or make something special. When I received my second letter I was thrilled to start work on two new toys. Sadly, my work will never be seen by him.
A few months ago, soon after leaving his home, he and his wife died in a car crash. Given that this was their fourth attempt for children, I was heartbroken. He was my only son and the only living loved one I had left. He was also the only person I cared about other than children.
My job became extremely hard to do. Every doll made, every toy soldier had sad and depressing colors. The toys in my shop didn't give me joy anymore. I never realized how depressed I was until an actual consular came into my shop. He saw a drastic change in the scenery. He was a dear customer and loved to come to my shop for toy repairs. We agreed to see each other every week to talk about this.
Those first few weeks were the hardest. Just mentioning my son or his wife's names made me burst into tears. The worst and most touchy subject were the names of my grandchildren, Lovino and Feliciano.
My son sent many letters to me when he was alive. Ever since his first day in America to the last letter a week before he died. The last nine letters he gave me were read until I could recite them by heart. I would stay up at night crying and smiling about what his boys would look like. He wanted the first one to be named Lovino. He was to have brown hair like his mother and beautiful eyes like his father. He was supposed to look a lot like his mother. I normally took the picture I have of his wife and read the paragraphs of these letters. The second boy's name is Feliciano. My son wanted this one to look a lot like me. Our brown hair and lightly tanned skin. My son would make jokes about our thick curls and often said that these boys' would have abnormally large curls.
By week seven I started feeling better. The toys still loomed, but I've been trying. Trying to make them feel happy again. I enjoyed the children that came to my shop, some even tried lifting my mood. They would call me The Roman Toy Doctor. I think I got that name because the shop's called The Roman Roaming Toys. They really showed that the few people that know me care.
After two months my shop began to brighten again. Making toys became fun, my dolls, puppets, figures, and toy cars grew happy with me. I even smiled a decent smile without thinking about my son or reading his letters. With this new joyus mood, the dear counselor told me that I should continue to make the two toys, the one's for my grandsons. I didn't like the idea. But, I reluctantly agreed to do it. Only under the condition that their eyes and hair would be omitted from the finished product.
Before I made progress, I decided to make the boys' as realistic as possible. I already finished the bodies prior, all I had to do was paint and clothe. I started with Lovino because he was going to be the first born. I made him olive-tanned like his mother. I made certain that he would look like his mother. Next was Feliciano. I made him resemble his father. Over time it became painful to paint him in that way. For that reason, I gave him more masculine features. He looked too much like me and I personally imagined him to have his mother's personality.
With Feliciano in my arms I move him next to his brother. I compare their looks and they look complementary to each other. I do find it weird to look at where the whites of their eyes should be. They're a little too realistic, almost like real children. If I was to approximate their physical ages, they would have been twelve. I skim at their hands and feet. Wow, did I go overboard with their realistic bodies. Their individual fingers and toes move like real ones do. I tear at these beautiful, lifeless dolls.
My boys, my grandchildren are right in front of me. If only their father could come and pick them up for my true grandchildren. I take deep breaths to calm down. It would never happen. I can't bring my son and my unborn grandchildren to life. If there was a way, If only there was a way to see them alive and happy.
With a yawn I look out my bedroom window. The sky is a dark navy, bright with a full moon. I walk to my window and look at the wonderful stars. I wonder If there was a way to bring my son and grandchildren to life. I would be really happy. My joy would probably confuse me. I smile and shut the window. I crawl to the side of my bed and pray before going to bed. I pray for another chance to see my son. I hope God can give me such a miracle. With one last conscious breath I fall asleep.