Soft Whispers

My whole life I dreamed of her.

I dreamed of watching her head off to school for the first time. The sparkly dresses for formals and prom. I dreamed of the boy who would break her heart, and the one who would finally set her free. I saw the lace wedding gown embroidered with flowers, and the veil as it was pushed back from her face.

And her smile?

It would send my heart into a flutter how beautifully radiant she was.

My whole life I yearned to hold her. To smell that fresh baby smell, to run my fingers through her butter-soft hair. I tracked every milestone, counted down each day. I made the Pinterest boards, picked out just the right paint color. Every day I would step into her room, double checking the diapers were stacked in the drawers and each onesie folded neatly into place. Her room was perfect, just the way I imagined it.

When I think back on the day she finally came, the details slip away into a blur. Machines hummed, lights glared too bright. I remember flowers bursting along the hospital windowsill, though I can’t recall who brought them. The nurses smiled and joked that we could open a florist shop with the blooms, but their voices felt far away…

muffled…

as though I wasn't really there.

Everything was painful and then everything was never ending bliss.

She was everything I had dreamed of, as if the universe had placed her in my arms. I stared at her in wonder and whispered through a tearful smile, “I love you, my sweetheart…”

I searched and admired every inch of her face. She had the shape of my eyes, her father’s nose, and ten perfect tiny toes. She was so warm and full of life.

So unlike me.

I memorized every smile, every laugh, every cry. I clapped in celebration when she wobbled across the room to her father for the first time. I hummed softly while she drifted into dreams, watching her rounded features slacken in sleep.

Some nights, a deep ache bloomed in my chest, tugging me far away. I’d wander the halls, like a ghost in my own home, and listen to her steady breathing. It was enough to soothe me, to ease the ache inside. I didn’t need rest, not really.

We played tea parties and danced barefoot in the yard. She paraded her dolls before me, naming each one Mommy. Her little face burst with excitement as she explained how each looked just like me.

We would lay in her bed and count each star I stuck to the ceiling. Watch as she draws across her pristine white and pink walls her father and I painstakingly painted.

As she grew older, something began to change.

First her crib was changed from a toddler bed to a full size one. Sheets I didn't pick out, curtains that didn't match quite how I liked. The white and pink walls were covered with posters of bands I'd never heard of.

Friends I've never seen.

No more tea parties.

No more counting stars.

I laughed it off, told myself she was just learning independence.

Children do that…

But then, she stopped naming her dolls after me. One day, I asked her which one was Mommy, and she tilted her head in confusion as she looked around. As if I was nobody.

Nobody.

Nobody…

My heart began to break.

I told myself it was a phase.

She still loved me.

She had to.

The ache inside me deepened. It gnawed when she ran into her father’s arms but didn’t glance back at me. It sharpened when she walked through the front door after school and never paused in the hall where I waited.

She used to smile in my direction…

She used to see me…

I reminded her.

I whispered to her when she slept. Sometimes she stirred, eyes flickering open, but she would look right through me.

A ghost.

A forgotten memory of what once was.

The worst was the day she stopped saying my name. She hadn’t spoken it in weeks, but still…

I waited.

I waited for that shimmer of hope.

When her friends came over to play, I leaned close as they spoke. Laughing fully and I would hope she would tell her friends about me…

But she didn’t.

Not once.

Each day she forgot me a little more.

And each day, I loved her harder. Held tighter. Because I couldn’t lose her. I couldn’t be erased.

That night, I couldn’t stay away from her room.

The ache in my chest had grown unbearable, pressing heavy against my ribs, filling me with something sharp and desperate. She had to see me.

Just once more.

I hovered at her bedside, watching the rise and fall of her chest. For that moment, I saw the little girl who called her dolls Mommy. I saw the little girl who would always have a seat saved for Mommy and a plate just for her at the table.

I saw the girl that smiled at me.

The one who was always supposed to love me.

“Why don't you see me anymore?” I whispered softly.

My hand trembled as I reached to sooth her, but my fingers slipped through her skin like mist.

She twisted and turned beneath the blankets, her lips parting with little whimpers.

I desperately wanted to touch her. To feel her warmth once again. “Sweetheart,” I whispered. “It’s me. Please… don’t forget me.”

Her lashes fluttered, confusion twisting her face. After several slow blinks, her eyes opened, wide and clear in the dark. She sat up slowly, her gaze steady, and for the first time in so long her eyes found mine.

My heart burst in my chest like a dam. Pouring from me with all the love I ever had for her. Elation I know over took my face.

But there was no joy on her face…

Only fear…

Only the recognition of something that didn’t belong.

Her lips trembled as she whispered, barely a breath, “Mommy?”

Tears blurred my sight. I reached out though I could never touch her. My voice cracked, raw and pleading.

“You… you can see me?”