I didn't know what to think about it whenever my daughter talked about it, but I would just listen to her, assuming she had a great imagination. She would tell me that she didn't mind the little girl playing with her toys, but she didn't like it when the little girl would sometimes wake her up.
Playing along I would simply tell my daughter, "Well, just tell the little girl to not be so noisy." My daughter would always say, "Okay", and I would simply leave it at that.
Many nights I would tidy my daughter's room up prior to tucking her into bed, only to go into her room through the night to check on her, or I would go into her room in the morning and I would find toys all over the floor again.
I would ask my daughter about it in the morning when she woke up, and she would say, "It wasn't me mommy, it was the little girl." Believing it was most likely her or perhaps her older sister, I just played along and would say, "Well, perhaps you should tell the little girl to clean up her toys when she is finished playing with them."
A couple of weeks passed and my daughter had not mentioned this little girl. Then one night while tucking my daughter into bed she told me, "Mommy, I saw that little girl again. She told me that she likes my toys. She said my toys are really neat."
I simply said, "Really? Well that was nice of her." My daughter then said, "Mommy, the little girl is really nice. I told her that I really like her dress and she said thank you."
I said, "Really? Well that was nice of you." My daughter then said, "Yeah, she always wears a really pretty dress." I said, "Really? Well maybe it's her favourite dress."
I wasn't prepared for what my daughter said next. She then said, "She said she was buried in that dress." My daughter then went on to describe what the dress looked like and what colour it was.
I felt the skin on the back of my neck crawl. My daughter then said, "She told me she gets lonely sometimes."
My daughter then went on to tell me that this little girl gave her a name of a person and said that he was the reason she was there in the house. She had apparently told my daughter that she missed him a lot and was waiting for him.
The name my daughter gave me was my dad's name. My daughter of course did not know that. She just knew my dad as "Papa" because that's what her and my older daughter called him.
After tucking her into bed for the night, I went downstairs and told my mom about it. My mom began talking to me about my dad's niece that died in a car accident long before I was born. Her name was Ruth. My dad was very close with her and she really loved my dad.
Ruth had an older sister named Cathy and a younger sister. My dad loved all three of them but was closest with Ruth. My dad's entire family was devastated when all three of them were in a car accident and both Ruth and Cathy were killed. They were only 7 and 9 years of age. Their mom who was also in the accident sustained serious injuries but the youngest of the three was completely uninjured.
Growing up I knew all about this horrible tragedy, the entire family did. My grandma would talk about Ruth and Cathy often. But my dad, he would never talk about them, the accident or the funeral. He couldn't. Whenever he started to talk about them he would break down and cry. Even to this day, well over 40 years since they died, my dad still can not talk much about them before breaking down and crying.
I questioned my mom about what it was the girls were buried in. My mom knew they were both buried in the dresses they wore their last Christmas but she could not remember what they looked like. My mom suggested I talk with a family member that would likely remember.
A few days later I called that family member up and asked her about it. She confirmed what my mom had told me. The girls were buried in dresses that they had received for Christmas, that they had wore on Christmas day their last Christmas.
I then asked my family member if she could remember what the dresses looked like. She asked me why and so I told her. I told her about what my daughter had told me.
The family member then asked me, "What did she say the dresses looked like?" I then described it to her just as my daughter had described it to me. My family member just sat quietly on the other end of the phone for a few seconds and then finally said, "Um, that is exactly what Ruth's dress looked like."
I informed my mom of all this and she decided we should tell my dad, and so we did that very night. After hearing everything, my dad got an odd look on his face and said, "So she's still here? In our house?" Both my mom and I said, "Yeah, I guess so." My dad never said a word.
My daughter talked a few more times of waking up at night to see the little girl sitting on her floor playing with her toys. There were times apparently the little girl would look at my daughter and say, "Sorry" because she thought she had woke my daughter up. Then, my daughter just simply stopped talking about seeing the little girl.
Some time had passed and one day my dad asked my daughter if the little girl still came into her room at night. My daughter said, "I don't think so, I haven't seen her."
A few years later my daughter came across a photo in one of my parents photo albums. It was a photo taken of my dad's nieces the last Christmas Cathy and Ruth were alive.
In the photo they are wearing the dresses they ended up being buried in. My daughter upon seeing the photo pointed to it and said, "Hey, that's the little girl that used to come into my room at night. And that's the same dress she always wore."
My daughter had pointed to Ruth.
Cathy and Ruth, and their younger sister (who I blurred out of the pic).
This photo was taken at Christmas time, two months before Cathy and Ruth died.
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Ruth wearing her dress that she received for Christmas. The same dress she was dressed in for her burial. This is also the same photo my daughter saw when she told me that this was the little girl that used to come into her room at night.
Their tombstone.
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