Grieving a Dead Named Daughter

You were wearing a light purple shirt and gold earrings. You still had long dark hair. You were about 12 or 13 years old, and I was hugging you, your head nestled into my shoulder with your arms around me and mine firmly wrapped around you. This dream felt so real and raw I still sense the emotions writing about it. I spoke to you in my dream “I miss you so so much” I sobbed. I said this several times over, getting softer with each word spoken, feeling the pain and sorrow in every cell of my body, pure and unadulterated ache, until it felt numb and was silenced. I woke up. It’s a nightmare out here. I weep some more. I miss you with in every fiber of my soul. I can only hope you are in the same dream hearing my sobs of desperation and feeling my love in your heart.

You grew within my womb for 40 weeks before you came into this world. I carefully choose your name upon your arrival after nursing you, holding you, and seeing what your personality presented. I decided on names that represented earthly vibes of seasons combined with flowering plants that signify togetherness, resilience, love with reflection and abundance that emits light and warmth. 

You used to be so cheerful, sarcastic, and silly. A quirky little girl with a dark sense of humor that I adored. The type of weird that I preferred. You picked the Monster High Dolls over Barbie and loved punk music over Swift. You doodled and drew with motivation to improve. Dungeons and dragons became a huge source of interest.  Your ability to create mystic creatures and characters in such various shades of light and dark, knowing the magic and spells was creative and clever. You became extremely opinionated and judgmental, until you grew downright mean and hostile. You cut your hair and removed your braces. You changed your clothing and faked a new personality. You became unrecognizable. 

I still miss you every single day. I’ll miss you for the rest of my life. I know I’ll never get this version of you again. They may have fooled you into erasing your gender, personality, and name but they can’t ever erase the memories that I once upon a time did in fact have a daughter and that my son had a little sister. I sometimes weep over the old photos. I smile watching the old videos. I giggle at the memories. You were whimsical and curious in all the ways I cherished. You were perfect in my eyes. You were one of my most favorite persons I ever got to share this life with. I desperately wanted a strong mother-daughter bond and felt extreme joy and pride when you became my little girl. I felt bliss watching you blossom into your personality. I felt joy witnessing you through different stages of your childhood. 

When your daughter rejects her sex and given name it feels like torture and chaos on repeat with triggers and reminders everywhere you go from your job, to the grocery store, from vacation, to simple meetings or even a yoga classes within the very community that helped facilitate the kidnapping of her.

They truly believe they are doing a good deed by keeping secrets from grieving families. These people actually think they are protecting a child from her mother who will not affirm a delusion. They can’t even grasp the concept that this personality they see in my daughter is an act, or a cry for help. I’ve watched her create stories for years. I’ve watched her mimic characters in books. I’ve cringed when she learned to lie, I’ve been watching her struggle with accepting who she is for quite a while. Only predatory adults with ill intent would enable these illusions while encouraging family alienation for their own personal gain whether it’s an ego boost, something to sooth their own trauma, or a financial gain. Meanwhile nobody can seem to answer a now traumatized mothers questions.

This false narrative of dead named daughters turning into sons is unfathomable torment and agony that derails entire family systems. Grieving fathers, mothers, and siblings that aren’t even allowed to safely discuss their grief in today’s society, without hate, judgement, allegations, threats and violence projected onto them.  Accept, lie, and pretend or else you become enemy #1 seems to be the only option.

It’s a pain as unbearable as pulling your father off life support. I’ve watched family members die from addictions. I’ve seen families mourn deaths of loved ones who died by suicide. I’ve watched the devastation of families who had to identify their dead child’s body. While each scenario comes with its own set of pain, watching your child’s personality become slaughtered by this cult is cruel and painful far beyond typical layers of grief that time can ease. It feels like a continual loop of sorrow that doesn’t seem to ease with time. At least there’s hope to hold onto in wishful ideas you might get your child back. But this hope is suffocating, creating daily barriers that so many can’t understand. Friends, family, even coworkers. tell me to just accept, to move on, yet they can’t tell me how. Knowing my daughters at the very least is becoming mentally damaged, quite possibly poisoned, and eventually physically destroyed - how does a mother just move on? How can I breathe even knowing this is the reality and outcome? 

I was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace when my son read me the lashing out text messages he received from his “missing” sister. “You all are dead to me” is what it read. Along with various cuss words and other hateful things. She told him she wants us to leave her alone. She referenced me by my name instead of mom and mentions how I am “stalking” her. She’s been listed as a missing person for almost six months now. Again, any attempts to reach out, see if she’s safe, or even locate her whereabouts are met with outbursts and hatred.

This cult ripped away the fabric of my daughter and I’s relationship. Thread by thread they unraveled all the parts of her personality that I deeply cherished, convincing her something was wrong with who she was. They then helped her make a noose out of the very threads and fibers they stole. The crusaders disarm me with emotional blackmail and various tactics while I’m pleading for my daughter’s mind and body not to be harmed. They warn this while they execute the mother daughter bond we had. Another dead named daughter sacrificed. 

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