Dima’s excavator

I have a brother named Dima. When we were children, Dima had a toy excavator, his only toy at that time. It was a rare model: blue with a white boom. According to Dima, when I was four and he was nine, I traded his beloved excavator, which he had named "Leopold," for a doll.
Thirty years have passed, yet Dima still jokingly asks where his excavator is and when I plan to return it. This childhood story has always been the thread that connects us, especially after I moved to Germany. It became our unique language of closeness in an environment where speaking directly about one's feelings was not the norm.
We haven't seen each other for five years due to the war started by Russia. Physical meeting is impossible for now, and "Leopold" has become the only tangible bridge between us. Based on my brother’s descriptions, I managed to find and purchase the exact same toy. Now, I am creating a book about our sibling bond maintained across distance, time, and the habitual inability to put our emotions into words. One day, I will return the excavator to him, I will.