Did I do something? Something wrong? Something that would make my own daughter cringe and turn away? She's so busy. All the time. Her two boys, my grand kids, Luke and Haydon, such lovely children, never come anymore. Its not a good feeling, not knowing where you went wrong. I can't help but ponder the years of my life. 81 years, and I am yet to die.
I had little Avery when I was 24. She had the bluest eyes like her father, and the darkest bits of hair. She was beautiful. My little, porcelain doll. When she was 10, she asked if she could have some make up. It was the most innocent thing. I laughed and said yes, we bought some glittery lip gloss and red nail polish. Little did I know that upon her 15th birthday, she would start being nicer around me. It was a fake nice. I always thought she was reserved and quiet, but she snuck out at night and hung around the wrong people.
I had to save her. Bring her back into my arms, where I knew she was safe. I found her one night crashed on the cemented ground. Her face bruised and the smell of liquor lugged around her mouth. Oh Avery. She blubbered about her mistakes and asked for forgiveness. Of course I gave it to her. She's my daughter. My little, porcelain doll.
Things turned around for a while after her 'rebellious' stage. Avery got a job at the local library. She stacked books and re-arranged them. She soon turned 21 and graduated from university with a degree in business economics. I had never been more proud of her than on that day. She moved out of the house, and paid back the money I had lent out to her.
That was the last time I saw Avery, my little porcelain doll, for 5 years. I heard of her engagement from a friend. A friend. Not from Avery, but from my neighbour, Adelaide. She got married in the winter to a man called Bruce. I had never met him, nor did I know what he was like. Avery had never introduced him.
It was at that point that I realised that Avery never came down for christmas or new years, or ever. My little, porcelain doll seemed to fade away.
It wasn't until the birth of her first child, that she called me. Luke Remus Ford was born on the 15th of September, 2016. He had the same iridescent, blue eyes, but a deep brown mop of hair like his father. Avery seemed rather panicked and anxious. She spoke jittery about how Bruce wasn't there enough and that she couldn't handle time alone with her son. I ushered her to come down, where I held my grandson for the first time.
Her initial fear was replaced with a bubbly demeanour when Bruce made the effort to drive all the way down. He tried to make amends with her, which she nonchalantly accepted.
Then she was gone again. A few years on, my darling Hayden was born. I didn't have the pleasure of meeting him until he was two. My two grand kids were especially blessed with kind faces and hearts. They were the sweetest things. I love them so very much.
And now, here I sit, on the rickety bed that Avery claims is my home. It didn't particularly bother me all that much. The process of being rushed into this home with my late husband was too quick to really feel anything. But now, as my hands grip the cool, metal railings, I realise I am alone. It isn't completely sad, at times it is relaxing. But Avery and kids never come anymore. And relaying this story to you only challenges me to question where I went wrong?
Why doesn't Avery come anymore?
Did I force the idea of family onto her too quickly?
Its just...without my husband, there isn't exactly anyone who I can dream with. I can't dream of meeting my little, porcelain doll again. She is gone with the wind. Invisible to the idea of hope.
Farewell, my little porcelain doll. My little Avery.
ns 15.158.61.11da2
