I Wonder About The Baby I Lost–Would They Know Me?

It happens all the time.  

I see a little girl–almost three years old, brown hair, a curious smile–and I think, “That could be Dorothy.”  My breath catches in my throat as I watch her toddle back to her parents so she can be lifted into their arms.  

I feel like I would know her anywhere. But I always wonder about my daughter who died: “Would she know me?”

Would she recognize me in a crowd?

Our only meeting in this world occurred without interaction; I was simply an observer of her delicate beauty.  Dorothy’s eyes never saw mine.  She never took in the curve of my smile or watched my mouth form the words, “I love you.”  

Would my voice ring familiar in her tiny ears?

Our only moments together were overwhelmed by silence.  My daughter never heard my voice.  She never heard me sing or listened to me profess my love.  

Would she know it was me if I reached out my hand?

Our time spent together was still and stiff.  Dorothy doesn’t know what my lips feel like as they brush against her forehead.  She will never experience the feeling of my arms as they wrap her in a warm embrace.  

I think she would know it was me because if nothing else there would be love.

In my face, she would recognize the love that a mother has for her child.  In my words, she would hear my devotion.  In my touch, she would feel the connection between two people who are so intertwined that they once shared a body.

My love for my child is limitless–it defies expectation.  

My love for my child goes beyond the eyes, the ears, and the fingers.  It goes straight to the heart where it will forever connect us.  A connection that will always help her find me.

Photo by Matt Hoffman on Unsplash

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