"I can feel what you're feeling now — and you are worth it." I only said it to her once, but I tried to show her throughout her life that I meant it. When my brother, of sorts, left her in the woods after her birthday and forced our family to leave, I stayed in the shadows and helped the pack find her. I never let her see me, but throughout all the years I've left her reminders that she was always worth it in my eyes. I would leave her notes in her mirrors with just a simple JW as signature, eventually left her my phone number so she could call whenever she needed someone. She started calling me at least once a day just to let me know she found my reminders or when she needed a friend. She went off to college and I followed her always staying in the shadows just watching. Friends were hard for her to make even as she matured, but I made sure to shoot her some confidence when she needed to feel that boost and make those connections.
She met a man several years later and married him. The love they shared was beyond words. It was something so unadulterated and pure that at times it could knock me down to my knees. They spent two lovely years together before I got the horrible call asking for me to come and see her. I could tell that she needed this just by the tone of her voice, so I rushed to her side. Her husband had died. He had gone peacefully in his sleep at the age of 28; his heart had stopped beating due to a birth defect that went unnoticed. Bella fell into my arms sobbing the moment she opened the door, it was all I could do to comfort her.
I helped her plan his funeral. Then I was the only person with her, holding her hand, while she buried the love of her life, in the same cemetery as her father. After he was laid to rest in the ground, she asked me to stay by her side. She didn't want eternity, but she wanted a companion. I thought she was far too young to give up on life and told her so, but she was adamant about her decision to stay as she was.
From that point on we moved around the world, occasionally we would come across others, but they would take one look at her, see the never-ending heartbreak and sadness in her eyes and understood why I stayed true to my promise to her.
It was a chilly winter day in Ohio, where we had been staying in a small apartment in a smallish city. Neither of us really went out to be social, so living in such an area was not a worry. She hadn't been feeling well for the last few weeks, but refused to see a doctor no matter how much I asked. "I don't want to interfere with life's plan for me," was her constant response and left it at that. Never one to be held back, she bundled up and went down the short walk to the local coffee shop just like any other day. She came back with her drink, wrapped up in several blankets on the couch near the window and watched as the snow came down faster as the day passed. I was preparing to go out to get myself something to eat when it happened. Silence. It was something I hadn't experienced in close to 20 years since living with her.
As I stood next to the headstone, I brushed my fingers over her name again and again. And not for the first time I wished that I could cry.
Isabella Marie Barker
9/13/1987- 1/6/2035
You are worth it.