Whispered Prayers of a Girl

“They were right as rain. Just like they always are.”

She pushes open the kitchen door, and my eyes immediately light on the two little redheads sitting at the table. I walk up to Daniel first and bend his head back so I can kiss his forehead.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey, Mom,” he replies, his bright green eyes staring up at me as he smiles, showing two bottom teeth missing.

“That looks good, Daniel. You can hang it on the fridge when we get home.”

“This one is for Mrs. Tanner. She said her kids are too old to color pictures for her fridge anymore, so I figured I could color one for her instead.”

I look up at Mrs. Tanner and see her smiling at Daniel. My eyes drop back to him.

“Well, that’s awfully sweet of you. I bet she’d love that.”

“It’ll bring color back to my fridge.”

I ruffle his hair before moving on to the silent girl in the next seat over.

“Hey, sweetie.” I bend and place a kiss on top of Kelsey’s head. She looks up at me and offers me a small smile with sad eyes, then continues her crossword puzzle. For being only eight years old, she’s extremely good at them.

Whereas Daniel is open and talkative, Kelsey is the complete opposite. Unfortunately, her low-key response is normal for her. She’s very reserved and quiet. For a little over two years, since her father died, she’s only ever spoken twice. Once was when she begged me to bring Will back at his

funeral, and the other time was a year ago when I had the flu. She quietly asked me if I was going to die as well. It broke my heart when those words left her lips. Not only because of what she asked, but also because I had prayed so hard for her to get better, for her to feel comfortable enough to talk again, for God to bring my little girl back, and when she finally spoke, her voice was more beautiful than I had remembered. I couldn’t enjoy it though, because I knew she was terrified she was going to lose another parent.

Although she’s only spoken to me those two times, I still hear her every night when she thinks only God is listening. One day, three weeks after Will’s funeral, I was walking by her room when I heard something. I was about to go in and check on her, when her soft words stopped me. Peeking in through the small crack, I saw my little girl kneeling in the middle of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in prayer and her eyes closed. Her whispers, begging God to bring back her daddy, had me choking back a cry and holding on to the doorframe to keep from falling to my knees. Every night since then, I’ve listened to her whispered prayers. It tears me up inside that she doesn’t come to me, and I know her heart only breaks more and more every day that her prayers are unanswered, but I’m glad she at least feels comfortable enough to talk to someone.

She has what therapists call selective mutism. It’s when someone voluntarily stops speaking for whatever reason. In Kelsey’s case, it was the traumatic event of finding her father dead on her bedroom floor after he went upstairs to get her favorite toy. At twenty-eight, he had a heart attack from an unknown blocked coronary artery. It was a freak occurrence that the doctors say only happen in about 5 percent of young men that have heart attacks. For it to happen to Will, someone who’s never had heart problems in the past, and has no family history of heart attacks, the chances were even lower.

When Kelsey found him in her room, he was already dead. She was six at the time. The experience left her traumatized. There’s really nothing the doctors can do for her. She’s been to several therapists, went through multiple sessions without success, and they’ve all told me the only thing I can do is be her mom and care for her. To show her my love and give her emotional support. That it’s up to Kelsey if she wants to be heard again. I just hope one day she will. They’ve also informed me that this may be permanent, but I refuse to believe that. Those prayers give me hope that my girl isn’t totally lost

I love both my children more than anything in the world. I loved my husband too. It’s been a little over two years that he’s been gone, and every day I grieve for him. I grieve because I lost the man I love, I grieve for my children who will never grow to know him more than they already do, and I grieve for my husband, who will never see his children grow up.

We moved to Colorado because I felt we needed a change. Although I was taking them away from the place they were born and where memories of their father were, I still felt they needed a new setting, a new start. Kelsey wasn’t getting better, and my own grief was debilitating. It wasn’t healthy for any of us. Daniel still remembers his father and misses him, but he was so young at the time, he wasn’t as affected by his death as Kelsey and I were and still are. That’s both a blessing and a curse for Daniel. While I’m glad his pain isn’t as harsh as mine and Kelsey’s, it still hurts to know that his memories of Will will more than likely fade away over time, until there’s nothing left except for what I tell him, and pictures.

“Would you like a cup of coffee before you leave, dear?” Mrs. Tanner asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I brush my hands down Kelsey’s hair and smile over at Mrs. Tanner. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ve got groceries in the truck. They’ll probably be fine, but I want to get started on Mrs. Myers’ pie that I’m taking out to her tomorrow.”

She pulls something from the fridge and sets it on the stove before turning back to me.

“You best be careful going out tomorrow, Gwen. They say there’s a snowstorm coming in tomorrow afternoon,” she informs me.

I watch as Kelsey puts down an answer on the crossword puzzle. It’s a word I can’t even pronounce, let alone know the meaning. She may not talk, and keeps to herself, but that hasn’t stopped her from being one of the smartest kids I’ve ever encountered. She’s always been that way though, even before Will passed away.

“I’ll be careful. I plan on going over early in the morning. We’ll be back before the storm hits.” I turn to Daniel. “Hey, kiddo, go make sure you have everything in your bag.”

“Okay, Mom.”

He gets up from the table with the picture and carries it over to the fridge, where he hangs it by a rectangular magnet. Stepping back, he admires his work.

“It definitely makes your fridge look more colorful,” he says nonchalantly.

Mrs. Tanner laughs. “That it does, Daniel boy. But you should know, now that you’ve started putting your pictures up there, you’re going to have to color me more. I want my fridge filled with them.”

He looks over at her and grins toothily. “I’ll color you one every time I come over.”

Mrs. Tanner watches as he walks away to gather his things. “That boy is special.”