Talking to Grace

A short dialogue between myself, a stay-at-home father, and my daughter who would now be an adolescent had she not died at birth.

Me: Grace, can you come downstairs and give me a hand?

Grace: …

Me: Please?

Grace: …

Me: Look, I’ve left you alone most of the day. Can you just come down and talk to me for a sec? I hate shouting at you from down here.

Grace: …

Me: Thank you.

Grace: …

Me: How are you feeling today?

Grace: …

Me: Is that good or bad?

Grace: …

Me: Did you sleep okay?

Grace: …

Me: Did you sleep at all?

Grace: …

Me: Maybe try going to bed earlier.

Grace: …

Me: Well. Anyway. I just… I don’t know.

Grace: …

Me: Are you cold? I’m going to turn up the heat in here. It feels cold to me.

Grace: …

Me: I’m kind of freezing, actually. It’s like there’s a breeze in here or something. Why does this house always feel so cold?

Grace: …

Me: When you get the chance, would you mind emptying the dishwasher?

Grace: …

Me: Please?

Grace: …

Me: I could use some help, you know? If you’re going to be around all the time I would really appreciate…

Grace: …

Me: I’m not shouting. I don’t know what would make you think I was shouting.

Grace: …

Me: Really. This is not shouting. Listen. I’m calm. I’m frustrated, sure, but I’m not even raising my voice. This isn’t anything I wouldn’t ask your brothers or sister to do. If you’d just help out a little…

Grace: …

Me: Would you please, just — God — for once, say something?

Grace: …

Me: I understand.

Grace: …

Me: But I. I just…

Grace: …

Me: No, you’re right. I couldn’t possibly understand. It’s just an expression, really. How could I actually understand?

Grace: …

Me: But I do try to understand what you must be feeling, what you must be thinking, what your world must be like — if you have a world, I mean, other than the one I imagine for you. And I don’t know that you try to understand me. I guess what I’m saying…

Grace: …

Me: Please don’t look at me that way.

Grace: …

Me: Or do. Go ahead and look at me. Look at me any way you like.

Grace: …

Me: Maybe a hug. Could I get a hug or something?

Grace: …

Me: A little hug?

Grace: …

Me: A touch? A wave? A whisper? Something?

Grace: …

Me: It’s unbearable, this silence. This imaginary distance. You’re right here. I know you’re right here. And yet you’re not. You’re nowhere. Where are you?

Grace: …

Me: No. I get it. It’s all me. This silence. That’s who you are. You can’t help being who you are. But I can’t help being me, you know? This conversation. It’s not even happening. But it’s part of me. I can’t help that, can I?

Grace: …

Me: I don’t get why I don’t just let it go.

Grace: …

Me: But of course I actually do get it. It isn’t logical. It’s just that the silence is so noisy.

Grace: …

Me: Your voice. I would give up my own voice just to hear your voice. Just once.

Grace: …

Me: Even if you were angry, shouting, telling me that you hated me and never wanted to speak to me again. Even that. I’d take it. Every confusing, terrifying moment of it.

Grace: …

Me: Okay. I get it. I do. It’s not happening. I know. But that won’t stop me from calling you down. That won’t stop me from asking. That won’t stop me from doing whatever this is I’m doing every single day I spend in this cold, quiet house.

Grace: …

Me: You can go back to your room now, Grace. I’ll stop bothering you for the day.

Grace: …

Me: Yes, of course I’ll make you a snack.

Grace: …

Me: Yes, of course I’ll eat the whole thing by myself.

Grace: …

Me: You’re welcome.

Grace: …

Me: I love you too.