She received a call from her dad. Did she want a kitten because the owner was about to drown it. She didn’t, so I took it. It had snow-white hair and blue eyes, and I named her Nicola. I fell in love with Nikki, who was a boy.
I swallowed a potion to remove the foetus, if there was one. Late that night the pain started, and the bleeding. Then there was a little blob in the bath. In my drug and alcohol induced haze I figured that was the end of it.
But years later as I sat on my knees in front of the rocking chair in Kyle’s bedroom, it all came back. My second son was just a few months old. I prayed, prayed in anxiety and worry and care. My thoughts were so wrong and muddled.
The scene changed and a man in a black suit carrying a child in his arms walked towards me. It was my dad, dressed in the suit he wore the day he died. The little girl was about 5 or 6 years old. She wore a white dress with a yellow sash around the waist. She was beautiful with blonde hair and blue eyes. And I understood her name, Nicola. My little throw-away child.
Nikki, I threw you away but you were scooped up into the arms of your Father, where you are waiting for me. You have forgiven me and long to put your arms around me, just like I do.
I do not know what your life would have been like had you stayed, I was such a mess. But I do know that Heaven holds a special place for little ones like you, unconsidered, unwanted and discarded.
Thank you, my only daughter child.