“In my daughter’s eyes, I am a hero.”“Martina Mcbride’s voice filled the room. I sat with tears streaking my face. I remember when my daughter saw me as a hero. She called me “supermom”. In her eyes I could do no wrong. I was the bread winner, the cook, the maid, the one who made school shopping trips happen each year and made Christmas’s magical. She seemed to believe I could slay dragons, that I was fierce, tough, unbreakable. The adoration and love in her eyes when she looked at me pierced my heart. I so wanted to be who she thought I was.

When my daughter was a little girl, she would say things like, “ I want to live with you forever.” “I love you mommy, I want to be just like you.” She got me a coffee cup one year with her allowance, it was of a mom roller skating in the house, juggling dishes, laundry, etc. it said “Supermom” on it. She looked up to me.

When she became a teen, I knew her view of me would change, it happens with all children. When she was 14 yrs old, she surprised me one day with a mixtape of sorts. She recorded a voice message for me to keep for years to come. On it she apologized for becoming distant and not talking to me as much as she used to. She wanted to assure me that she still loved me very much and that I was still the most important person to her. Then she put the song “Wind Beneath My Wings” by Bette Midler on the tape. She said that I was to her, what this song said. I was her cheerleader, the one who believed in her. The one who sat in the shadow of her wings as she soared.

Somehow, and only God knows how, my daughter continued to see me as this hero, even through her college years. I was the one she came to with everything. I was the one with the sage advice or the listening ear. I was the one who gave her happy memories. I was her favorite person. Even in college, she didn’t want to leave me. She got accepted to a college 3 hours away, but chose to go to my alma mater instead. She commuted to classes so she could stay home with me.

No one ever loved me like she did. No one had ever looked at me the way she did. I dreaded the day, when she realized I was just human. I was , no, I am a broken, mortally wounded woman. I have lived a life of feeling and believing I was unloved. I remember the night my daughter lost her hero and I broke her heart. The night I tried to kill myself and she came home and found me. The night I told her I no longer wanted to live because no one loved me. When she told me that she loved me and always had and always would. In not so many words, I let her know that her love was not enough for me. I saw the look in her eyes, as her heart shattered. I instantly regretted my words, but they were out there. My daughter never looked at me the same again. That night, my daughter lost her Hero and I lost myself.

My life started out happy, or so I have been told. To be honest, I don’t remember it well. My “happy” childhood changed the night I over- heard my parents arguing. “ I didn’t wanted a second daughter, I wanted a son.” I never heard the words I love you from my father. He and I butted heads my whole life.