I'd do it all over again.

I wish I had something inspirational or admirable to say. I would love to be able to say that I've become a better person, or that I've grown so much since December 7th when Bella returned to heaven, but I can't.

There are people that can gracefully come out of a situation like this. They can see things that I'm starting to think I can't or don't want to see. I don't think I want to see a light at the end of the tunnel, but I know it's there. I don't want to think of the future, but I know it's coming. I don't want to make plans, but I know they must be made. I'd love for the world to stop spinning, but it won't. The sun will continue to rise, despite the fact that I'd prefer it didn't. Life will go on, although, I wish it wouldn't.

I think I've always been a fairly optimistic person. I am usually the first to look at the glass as half full, rather than half empty. I'm the person that gives a bum money along with a smile, because I'd want to be treated with respect if I were ever in that situation. I'm no Mother Teresa, but I would classify myself as generally a good person. I used to believe that bad things happen to bad people. I thought that if you'd commit a good deed, you'd be saved somehow, from bad things. That is probably one of my biggest mistakes. Bad things happen to everyone, and good things do too.

Bella is honestly the best thing that ever happened to me. I can't explain the happiness that she brought into my life. It's amazing, almost unbelieveable, how such a tiny little person can make your entire world feel complete. Given the choice to go back and do this all over again, I would, in a heartbeat. I'd take all the good, and even the bad. Yes, even the bad.

I'm not a strong person, I'm not an admirable one, and I'm most definitely not inspirational. I've been forced to go on this journey that no one would willingly go on. Some have said, "I don't know how you do it. I could never survive." But the reality is, that you probably would survive. You wouldn't be proud of yourself, but you'd survive nontheless. And I'm not even sure that I'd call it surviving because it doesn't feel like it.

These past few days we've been "blessed" with good weather. It's been very hot in the bay area. Days like these remind me of Bella. We had our fair share of "good weather" days together. Everytime I see a baby with chunky little feet, I'm reminded of her. It seems like parents have all gotten together and decided to dress their little girls in completely pink outfits, just like I used to dress her. I saw a Dad rocking his little girl to sleep, and it reminded me of Bella and her Dad. Days like these are harder than usual, but I'm grateful to have the memories. 

I love you.
 I am who I am because of you.
 You are every reason, every hope, and every dream I've ever had ♥

Miss..

Yesterday, I drove and drove for hours. I didn't have anywhere to go, but I drove. I watched the sunset and the waves that seemed to try to reach up to the sky. I drove without thinking, and I had hoped that I'd end up somewhere interesting, but I didn't.
I was trying to escape, but it didn't work and I'm not surprised. I thought that maybe, if I drove far enough, maybe I'd find somewhere that could make me forget. I mean Highway 1 has to lead somewhere, right? Too bad, that somewhere, isn't where Bella is. Which is the only reason that I turned back and headed home.

I learned how to drive at a cemetery. I was horrible at braking and my dad didn't trust me not to hit anything. So one day we drove to the cemetery and my driving lessons began. He would tell me to pretend that every turn was a stop sign and he'd tell me to look both ways before crossing an "intersection." His reasoning was that I couldn't kill anyone there. I was never afraid of being there, but I learned very quickly how to brake so that I wouldn't have to go back. I never would have gone there alone.
Now, I can spend hours at the cemetery, alone. I think it's comforting to know that Bella and I are only separated by a wall. It sounds crazy, I know. I can sit there for hours and read or look at her pictures. Even if I can't stay for long, I like to stop by daily just to tell her that I love her. I know that I can tell her I love her anywhere, anytime, but I find it comforting for now. I like to keep her spot clean, and her flowers fresh. I like to decorate her area, and it's nice to include her godparents in the creativity. It feels like something I can still do for her.

They say time heals everything. Whoever said that either lied, or hasn't buried their child. Time. It's become my worst enemy. When we hit six months last week, I felt worse than I'd felt this entire time. It was like it had just happened a few days ago, and like it had happened ages ago, all at the same time. I can't explain it. There isn't a single word in Webster's dictionary that could describe it. I'm not surprised, because it's an unthinkable feeling. It's a feeling that no one should ever have to feel.
Miss: to discover or regret the loss or absence of.
They need a new word for miss because I miss you is not even the beginning of it. Not even close.

I never believed that love at first sight was possible.
Until I met you.
Now, I believe, because I've experienced it.
I love you.

A little nudge..

On Sunday, when I was visiting Bella, I came across a bird that was "trapped" in the mausoleum. The bird had flown in and couldn't find its way out, so it just kept flying straight into a big window. I watched it for a little bit and I considered helping it. My first reaction was to help it actually, and then my bitter side kicked in, and I thought, "It'll be fine. Don't worry about the stupid bird."

Lately, that's how my thought's have been. I've developed a feeling of indifference towards some people, things, and situations. I hate feeling that way, but honestly, I could care less about people complaining that they are having the worst day ever because things just aren't going right. Try having the worst 5 months of your life, then come talk to me. Horrible, I know. It's just hard.

I sat down at Bella's spot to read my book. I looked at her pictures. Then I finally gave in, and got up to help the bird. I'm convinced it was one of Bella's nudges that encourage me to be nice. As I was getting closer, the bird panicked and started trying harder than before to get through the window. When I was really close, I put my sweater over it, and the bird stopped struggling. I gently picked it up and looked at it. It watched me intently, but it didn't move. I was scared that it would bite me, but it just kept looking at me. I thought about taking it back to Bella's spot and keeping it for a little while, but that didn't make sense. So I walked it outside, opened my hands, and watched it fly away. I can't explain why, but I felt better. Maybe because I helped it? Or possibly because it reminded me that sometimes letting go is the best thing you could do.

Over and over, I've played out different scenarios in my mind. I could've held on longer. I could've chosen to keep fighting. I could've done more to keep her here. However, I know in my heart that I let her go because I love her. I let her go because as her mother, I couldn't ask her to be strong for me. I couldn't ask her to fight a battle that she wouldn't win. I'd give anything to have her back. Anything. But in all honesty, I'd feel this pain anyday, as long as she's free of pain. I know she's not suffering anymore. Wherever Bella is, it must be beautiful. Despite the fact that I'm in a love-hate relationship with God, I know that He's taking care of her. I know that He must really love me if He gave Bella to me. To be able to say that I've held an angel in my arms, is an honor.

I saw a therapist a few months after Bella passed away. She was a very nice lady, and she seemed to be surrounded by death. She had all these stories to tell me about her loved ones dying. It was sad, but the way she talked about it, it didn't seem sad. She kept talking about all the lessons that death taught her. It taught her to cherish people. It taught her to love. It taught her things about herself. I liked her, but I stopped seeing her. It's weird. I felt like I had nothing to tell her. I knew that my decision was right. I didn't hate Bella's dad or God, at the time. I missed her, but I could function. I thought I could deal on my own, without her help or anyone else's for that matter. But as time has progressed, my feelings have completely changed. I still feel that I made the right decision for Bella. However, it's harder to function; life without her is empty and just seems to get emptier as each day passes. My heart is filling with hate, and I don't like the feeling. Maybe, I'm just looking for someone to be angry at, someone to blame.
She suggested that I go out, on my own, and allow myself to cry. She suggested this on the very first day that I met her. She told me that the only way to heal was to allow myself to feel the pain. To really truly feel it. To sream at the top of my lungs, to no one in particular. To give myself a chance to feel sorry for myself. To not be strong. And to this day, I can't do it. I unconsciously avoid being alone, or in my room, or being in my car too long. I don't know what I'm so afraid of. School ends this week, and I'm going to take her advice. I need to, or else I'm going to go crazy.

I remember the first time you got the hiccups. It was 5 am, and everything was silent. I could feel you hiccuping in my belly and I was so excited that I didn't move the entire time. I couldn't stop smiling. I remember the first time I laid eyes on you, I had never known a love so intense that it took my breath away. The first time you smiled at me will forever be imbedded in my heart. I'll never forget your first giggle. You giggled because your uncle Jorge tickled your little double chin and name it Chelly. Every memory is a gift, and I will forever be grateful that we were given the opportunity to make memories together. I love you my little lovebug.