Daughter
daughter
I had a dream that I had a daughter. I’m not sure why or how the dream came about, but it did, and for a while I had a daughter. I remember knowing that her mother and I didn’t like each other very much. In my dream we were separated, possibly never together.
I don’t even remember my daughter’s name. She was young - probably about 6. She was smart and inquisitive and beautiful. She had medium blonde hair, pale white skin with rosy cheeks, and little delicate fingers. She was so small. I remember her voice from my dream, calm and a little too mature for her age.
I don’t know a whole lot about this child who was, for the span of a night, my little girl. I know she was headstrong and a little demanding. I know she was upset with me for fighting with her mother. I know she thought I didn’t make enough time for her. I know I loved her.
And then I woke up and although the feeling was still there, the little girl never existed. I never had a daughter. The more I thought about her, the more the memories slipped away, until now I’m struggling not to think about her so the last little glimpses I have of her will remain. I never had a daughter, but somehow her loss has left an ache deep inside of me.