Ashley

     We all grieve in different ways. The death of someone close to you is bound to create some sort of emotion, or in some cases, a form of trauma. In the case of my wife, Cynthia's death; I was the former. Our daughter, Ashley, was the latter. 

Most kids are taught the concept of death in incremental doses. The first would normally be the lost of a pet, then a death of a family member. But Ashley, being 6 years old, learned in one go. And it was the woman that brought her in this world. The grief caused the girl to lose the will to speak.

In the passing days and weeks I tried everything I could to get her to talk again. She was silent at the hospital, silent at the funeral; and now, when she's at school, she passes notes to her teacher in order to answer or ask questions. When she comes home, it feels like I'm sharing space with corpse. She'll put food to her mouth but won't chew. So I've had to make juices for her and give her pills for her nutrition. Concerned, I've taken her to every medical professional I could and they have said the same thing over and over. 

"There's nothing really wrong with her. I'm certain she'll speak when's she's ready"

I try not to be mad at her. But I can't just blame myself. Is this torture? To keep my baby's voice away from my ears. One night I completely lost it. "Christ would you just say something Ashley!?" I shouted. All she did was stare at me. Her glare made my spine shiver, as if she was staring at my soul and disapproved of my suggestion. As if I, her father, had no right on earth to ask her to do something.

"I'm... I'm sorry sweetheart." I said sincerely. "Daddy's going to bed now. Today's Friday so stay up as long as you want. I'll call you downstairs for breakfast tomorrow OK? So don't stay up too late."

Ashley, of course, said nothing. She simply nodded and watched me walk up the stairs. I could feel her eyes on me. Their weight holding my legs down like shackles. I could barely get through my bedroom door before I collapsed on the floor and started to cry. With my hands folded I prayed... "I would give anything to have my daughter speak again."

The next morning I woke up drained. I gave all my energy last night to tears and listening to the downstairs TV change from cartoon to cartoon. My daughter, not laughing at a single joke. When a month ago she was nothing but a bundle of laughter. I shook my head and dragged my body downstairs to make breakfast like I promised her. To my surprise, Ashley was already awake; sitting at the table with a few markers and pieces of paper.

I gave her a kiss on the cheek that wasn't reciprocated, instead she continued to write on the piece of paper. I left her alone and started shuffling in the cupboard for blender supplies. I heard a chair move, and a sudden tug on my shirt. It was Ashley, with a message.

"Pancakes and Bacon please?" it read. This was the first time in a month she asked me for anything solid, and this is what Cynthia would always cook for us on Saturdays. I smiled and said "OK!"; all the while screaming in my head that prayer really does work.

I mixed the batter and fried the bacon, enough for seconds and thirds in case she got really hungry; and placed everything I could on the table. I gave her a fork and, to my amazement, she started eating! Chewing and swallowing with such speed that I was afraid she'd choke. "Honey, slow down." I said, giggling as if I was feeding a pup for the first time. She ignored my plea and kept going til her plate was empty. I watched as she energetically picked up her plate and put it in the dishwasher. She then grabbed the paper and markers from underneath the table, and started writing again. I wasn't halfway through my plate before I was given another message. This time with an address.

My eyes opened wide with shock. "Sweetie, how do you know about this place?" I asked. She wouldn't answer. "I mean, your Mother and I... We haven't been there in so long, it was before you were born. Did she tell you about the day we met?"