The beginning of the end

It's been one year since I have been able to hold my living baby girl in my arms.
One year since the word "Momma" has passed over her lips.
One year since we have talked non-sense or giggled over something ridiculously silly.
One year since I've heard her sweet little voice cry out "Baby Isaac" as he arrived back at the hospital.
One year since she has, I swear intentionally, annoyed me by allowing the movie she picked to get 5 minutes in before deciding she could not bear to see another second of it and I had to change it.
One year since I have crawled onto the horrible foam excuse for a hospital mattress and snuggled her against my chest.

We had come to accept that cancer, clinics, hospitals were going to be our new life.
We had accepted that this journey was clearly not going to be a simple one for her.
She wasn't going to get the "cake-walk" treatment path that some kids seem to get.
But she was a fighter, born feisty for a reason.

But then it happened so fast, we didn't even get a chance to warn her.
To soothe her.
To promise her that everything would be ok.
We thought it was.
We thought it would be a few days, a week, and she would fight back.
That was just who she was.
This was just going to be another notch on her belt.

If I had known I was saying good-bye it would have been different.
Everything would have been different.

But I didn't.