I remember that day, 16 years ago. It was a day of snow. A day when God opened the skies and delivered blessings. And you were the greatest one of all that day.
I remember holding you and watching you breathe. You stared at me silently, and I at you. God gave the first portion of your life to me. And I devoured those minutes like a starving man would a feast.
I remember the nurse calling you a baby pterodactyl because of your little noises.
And I remember our first Christmas together. We brought you home from the hospital that day and we must have stopped the car three times to make sure you were breathing.
I remember how terrified you were when Big Bird paid you a surprise visit. I am still apologizing to Momma for that.
And I remember how foolish I was to think I could safely transport you across a slick floor on a bath towel like a magic carpet ride. Sorry for that too, Momma.
I remember how you “offered” your fist to Michelle, and how you grew to love her.
I remember how you diagnosed yourself with “stwep thwoat”, and how you ran into an open file cabinet and required a staple in your head to close the gap.
How can I use the word “remember” to describe the day Dr. Patel called our home? It would be like having fathomed the depths of the sea and saying, “I got a little wet.”
I remember embracing you that day like it would be my last day to embrace you. And I remember that God had bigger plans.
I remember the shots you had to take, and the pain on your face.
I remember the radiation treatments, and the chemotherapy, and the nausea, and the leg cramps. And I remember your smile as you endured.
I remember the “all clear” phone calls that held us in the prayer mode as we waited.
I remember the last scans.
I remember the relays we’ve attended, and the way you have given hope to others still in the midst of the fight.
I remember the spelling bees and how hard you worked.
I remember you – my precious daughter.