8 months is both such a short time and such a long time.
In the first 8 months of your life, you went through more needle pricks, more hospital visits (including one over New year’s when we thought we might lose you) therapies, and scans than most people do in a lifetime. It was so scary. The future unknown. Each time you had your blood taken, I prayed for good results, that I was still taking care of you and doing a good job.
The last 10 months you were here with me, was different than the first part of your life. You thrived. Your personality broke through. That sassy, stubborn, side-eye giving, “squawk at people who touched the bow in your hair” Stella that I know and love emerged. I saw that you were a fighter. You gave me hope for the future.
Recently, I have become tired again. The anniversary my grandmother’s death was a bit over a week ago, and missing her is so so bittersweet. I miss her and my heart aches, but I’m glad that there is someone I know and love and trust to take care of you in heaven till I get to see you again.
Life is just moving at it’s own fast pace and still I feel like I’m struggling to keep up. My schedule isn’t particularly busy, but I feel overwhelmed at times. I see those around me as they continue to move forward in their lives. Heartache happens, hearts are mended and new heartaches arise. That, I think, is inevitable in life. We forget the hard times and look forward to the good. I wish it were that easy for me.
I used to think it was the best thing to have a really good memory. I knew it would help in lots of things. Especially when winning an argument with your daddy. But I know my excellent memory is a double edged sword. I can think of a moment we had together and the picture comes to my head. What you were wearing, how you tilted your hands and fingers in such a girly way, how your “Pebbles” ponytail would flip around when you shook your head to the music or to tell me “No”, the way your eyes would turn into the shape of a half Moon when you laughed, the dimple on your cheek and the tongue you constantly stuck out in concentration. I remember it so very clearly.
But with this awesome memory comes the still shots of the worst day of my life. When those memories come, as they always do, it is all I can do to maintain composure as my heart physically aches. It hurts.
I miss you Stella Li. Mommy misses you. Daddy misses you. We all miss you Stella. I can’t wait to smell your feet again. I love you my baby girl.
Always and forever.