Eight years ago I waited anxiously for your arrival, nervous and scared of becoming a new mother. The moment I saw you I was enamored by the amount of love one person can have for another. Everything about you was perfect, and still is. Watching you slowly grow into an intelligent, brave, compassionate young lady has been the most amazing part of my life.
Just over two years ago I feared I wouldn’t get to see more of your birthdays. When I was told I had cancer I immediately thought the worst, and you were the first thing that popped into my mind. How could I leave my beautiful little girl? But as I moved through surgeries and treatments to kill the cancer that had invaded my body, you became my strength. And you didn’t even know it. You didn’t know what cancer was, only that I was in pain or didn’t feel well. You didn’t know I was scared, but you knew to snuggle me or give me kisses.
You were my reason for living and fighting to kick cancer to the curb. I thought daily about the possibility of not getting to see you celebrate another birthday. I cried at the notion of not seeing the woman you are bound to become. Every fear I had was rooted in my love for you.
You still don’t know just how sick mommy was two years ago and I pray you never have to see me that way again. I know you can’t quite understand it yet, but someday I will explain it to you. I’ll explain how a virus caused cancer to invade my body. I’ll explain how it was the reason I couldn’t give you the brother or sister you wanted. And most of all, I’ll tell you how you helped make me better without even knowing you did. My reason for fighting was you, and it always will be.
In a few years I’ll read this to you, when I know you can understand it. I’ll tell you how every birthday I help you celebrate is more special to me than I ever considered before. Thank you for being the light at the end of a tunnel I feared would engulf me. Thank you for showing me how much love can push us forward.