The Hardest Lesson To Learn

I turn the television volume down, sure I had heard a voice speaking from down the hallway. I listen intently and swear I can hear my three year old talking in her bedroom. Is she talking in her sleep?

I climb from my chair and slowly tiptoe down the hallway, until I’m standing outside Celia’s bedroom door, which is partially open.

I hear Celia speak, “Billy, why is my Mummy so sad all the time. She thinks I don’t see the tears that fall down her face.”

My hand flies up to cover my mouth in shock. I thought I had been hiding my pain and heartache from my little girl. When has she seen me cry? I only allow the tears to fall when I’m certain Celia is fast asleep.

As I stand there asking myself these questions, I hear an unexpected response in a deep gravelly voice.

“Your Mummy lost her Daddy last week. Do you remember Mummy telling you that Grandpa has gone to forever sleep?”

I await Celia’s response.

“Yes Grandpa won’t be coming to see me anymore. Mummy told me he is sleeping and he won’t wake up. I miss my Grandpa,” she says.

“That’s right. Your Mummy misses him too and sometimes that makes her terribly sad. But you and Mummy can help each other,” the deep stranger’s voice tells Celia.

“I don’t know how to help my Mummy be happy again,” Celia responds and I can hear the sad catch in her voice.

I had no idea my mood was effecting her so badly. Tears spring to my eyes and fall down my cheeks. My heart is breaking at the pain in my little girl’s voice. It makes me realise that by hiding my sorrow and pain at the loss of my father, I am causing my baby girl extra pain and sorrow.

Celia already has her own torment to deal with from the death of her Grandpa and without realising it I have added to her sorrow and pain.

My tender heart breaks at my mistake.

That deep voice speaks once more. “Every time you feel sad or you see Mummy sad, run up to her and give her lots of cuddles. Your Mummy will cuddle you back and this will heal both yours and your Mummy’s broken heart.”

Who is the owner of that voice?

Whoever has that deep voice is a very wise man indeed.

Hang on — why is there a man in my daughter’s bedroom? A man with a very deep, gravelly voice!

I quickly push the door open and storm into the room in a mad panic, only to freeze at the scene I’m bearing witness too.

Sitting on her bed Celia looks up in surprise and sitting next to Celia’s knee is the tiniest, most adorable butterfly, with the purest blue wings. It turns its head towards the door and flutters up onto Celia’s knee.

“Mummy, Mummy I want you to meet my friend, Billy the butterfly,” Celia excitedly tells me.

I stand still looking at this picture. My little girl and a talking butterfly. It can’t be real. My left hand reaches across my chest and pinches my right arm to prove this is all a dream.

“Ouch!” I exclaim loudly.

“Mummy, do you have a boo boo? Do you want me to kiss it better?” my adorable baby girl asks me.

I smile at my daughter, give her a kiss on the cheek and silently leave the room, positive that this is all a dream.

Dream or no dream — that tiny wise butterfly has taught both my daughter and I a valuable lesson.

Celia now knows it’s okay to show her pain when she’s sad and I’ve learned that I need to be honest with my daughter about how I am feeling. This is the only way we can heal together.

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