16. That's how old I was when I met you. Life was foggy that day. Heck, life was foggy every day. The constant in and out routine, my nurses so punctual in administering the medicine, the pulsating beep of the IV. There was no need for details. Everything that surrounds that hour I spent perched on your bed doesn't exist in my memory. It's just empty. Not dark, shadowy, or black. It doesn't exist. I simply didn't exist. Sometimes I would disappear for hours, other times days, returning for a few minutes here, or an hour there. I don't remember you moving into the other half of the room. I don't remember waking up. I don't even remember getting out of bed, or being introduced to you or sitting on your side of the bed. It's all gone. It's like trying to hold water in my cupped hands. I know I started at one point with hands full of water, but before I know it, I am just left with drops. Just a whisper of something that once was, but will never be there again. I know it must have happened, because I do remember sitting on your bed. Your hair was so thick and shiny and beautiful, although I knew you hadn't brushed it for a day or two. You looked so small sitting there. I must have looked so alien, so foreign to you. My eyes had sunken into my face a little from all of the weight I had lost and the last of my eyebrows and eyelashes had fallen out a few weeks before. But you didn't show any sign of fear or disgust. Your voice was steady as you asked questions and as I answered them honestly, I can clearly remember the look of determination on your small little face.
9. That's how old you were when I met you. The day you came into the other half of my room and became my fellow fighter; my little sister. You were sassy and spunky and refused to own any article of clothing that wasn't pink. And later that night, when I disappeared from the world once again; swept away in my own harsh fight with death; grasping onto my life with my hands as hard as I could, you whispered to your mom your fears and your sorrows. And when your mother asked you what you would wish for when your Make-A-Wish came around, you quietly told her: "For my new friend, Chelsie, to get better."
13. That's how old you would have turned today. You probably would have started wearing make-up and liking boys. You would still be wearing pink. You would be giving your mom a run for her money. You would have been so sassy and just as spunky. I think of you every day. When I am down and lonely, or when I am overwhelmed, or when I just can't fight it anymore, I think of you. I think of your kindness and the beautiful person you were and the incredible selflessness to have wanted to wish for me to get better. God needed you back with him, but he saw it fit to grant you the wish for me to get better. He granted your wish. And every day, I wake up and want to make your wish worth it.
21. That is how old I'll be next Friday. I graduated high school, and now I'm in my third year of college. I am almost five years cancer free. I'm studying to be an English Teacher! You would have liked that; you loved stories. I've been to California and Oregon and I've seen the Grand Tetons. I've made incredible friends and I fell in love. I have grown closer to my Savior and have slowly begun to understand that there was a reason why He granted your wish. I am still needed here. I hope that I make you proud. I hope that you know that I am doing my best. I am trying to be positive like you always were and to love unconditionally like you did. I'm living as best as I can in your memory.
Happy Birthday, Maddie Girl.
I love you.
