This is hard to read and a hard to story to write. It is a sad but true story based on my own daughter. I hope you all enjoy the read, as writing it help me ease the cluster in my head. Characters are property of someone else but the story is mine. The chapters are considerably longer this is a small taster.
I am strong
Prelogue
I feel strong today, I won't cry. I may even smile. I did promise her that I would, "Smile today Mommy." She begged after last night's breakdown. I hate her seeing me in such a bad place, she has the emotionally maturity of a child nearing adulthood but the lack of understanding of life and living and why I am so inconsolable these days. Every time I cry I hate myself for letting her little ears here, then the guilt is then so overwhelming that I cry some more until I am a howling mess on my kitchen floor. Nothing can pull me from that moment of complete nothingness until I hear the light footsteps run across the floor upstairs followed by a little voice, "Mommy?"
My daughter is almost 3 and she has spirit. She is so fierce about things and very stubborn; apparently she gets that from me. She is apparently my "mini-me" I see the brown locks of hair in ringlets and I see the chocolate brown eyes but she's a much prettier version or the new and improved version. I remember telling my father Charlie, the chief of police that I was pregnant, being only 18 at the time you can imagine how that colourful conversions was.
He wasn't as bad I though, I did see the gun come from off the wall and him mentally shooting whoever "he" was. He was rather awkward throughout my pregnancy but as soon as she was born, he was lost. Completely and utterly in love, I smile just thinking about that. There I did it, I smiled today.
It's hard to remember a time that I smiled for a prolonged period of time, like I really truly meant it. 8 months to be exact. There were signs but yet it was still a shock. I went through the right channels, the doctors and hospital visits but still nothing prepared me. I had a phone call late October from the city of Forks General hospital's latest doctor.
I sat down and a blonde man, Dr. Cullen tried to give me some answers. I didn't like his face, it was pained. He looked as though he cared which surprised me a little. Then he said it. He told me exactly what was wrong, only he didn't tell me how we could fix it. The room was filled with loud screams and sobs, it's only when a man caught me from falling to the floor did I realize that it was me screaming. I held onto this stranger and cried like I have never cried before.
Dr. Cullen stood there unable to move as though my pain was physically attacking him and this man that was hold me as tight as I was hold him looked as broken as I felt. I barely remember leaving the hospital that day. Emmett, my brother and his latest squeeze was home from college so it was unusually busy at ours. I vividly remember feeling my baby squeezing my legs shouting "Yay mommy's home!" Then running off to watch Dora's latest DVD. I looked up to 3 sets of curious and clearly worrying eyes.
"Bell's are you okay?" Emmett strained voice asked. His girlfriend squeezed held his hand in comfort as though my visual appearance was that disturbing.
For the second time that day I only realized I was crying was when someone caught me from falling to the floor. Charlie pulled me to the sofa and begged me to tell what the matter was.
"It's cancer." I whispered but loud enough to be heard. The gasps where proof of that.
Any signs of self pity slowly faded as I see my baby's face. The pain is etched into skin. I quickly react grabbing her and holding her over the toilet pan for her to let her poor attempt of a breakfast make reappearance. I see that her arms are already bruising under my grip. "Its okay baby girl, Mommy's got you. You'll be okay." I hush to her as I rock with her gripped tight to my body. I feel my shirt damping from her tears. "It hurts me." She sobs.
How can I reply? Any word coming out of my mouth is going to be a lie.
It was a few months ago she starting being ill an awful lot. I kept taking her to the doctor, it was always "She'll be fine Miss. Swan; they catch everything at this age." That was never sufficient enough, her body was too little too take much more. Then started the rashes, little pinprick marks like love bites, so the hospital trips started. Then the blood test but never an answer. Only it may be this or it may be that. Until the bruises started, then they took action. I made them take action.
Now 8 months down the line and despite the fight she's given it, it's winning.
I feel strong today. She is strong today.