Today marks two years – that’s 731 days, 1052640 minutes, 63158400 seconds – since you’ve gained your angel wings. Each minute feeling longer than the last, but still shorter than they felt while seeing you in that hospital bed. After three short years, you definitely earned those wings; as tough as it is to say it, it was your time to take them.

I remember the day she was admitted. I remember thinking, “she’s only a few months old, what do you mean you don’t know what’s wrong with her?” She was just a baby, there shouldn’t be anything wrong. Then the first diagnoses came, then the next, everything felt like it just kept getting worse. As if getting bad news in the hospital wasn’t enough, imagine that bad news being told about such an innocent little one, just trying to start their life.

There is just so many things you didn’t get to experience, to see, or to enjoy. There are so many memories we didn’t get to make, and so many moments your family has to do without you.

When it’s an older person being diagnosed, they have gotten their whole life to experience all that they want to, and we’ve had our time with them; but, when it’s a child, only a few months or a few years old, there’s almost nothing to hold onto, nothing to keep you going while you watch them fight for their life, nothing to keep your strength alive.

Through the months that I sat by the phone waiting to hear the next update on how you were doing, the only thing keeping me going was knowing that one day you were going to be okay. Whether it was with a new heart here on Earth, or upstairs finally in peace, I knew that one day, you were going to be okay. And now that it’s been two years, I’m at peace knowing that you’re okay, you’re finally pain-free; and, I’m sure you have a smile painted all over your face.

There are a few things I’ve learned from watching a child spend their time in the hospital. I’ve learned strength, hope, and determination – far beyond what anyone else has taught me. With all my heart, I can say, I’ve never seen someone fight so hard. Seeing her go through all she was going through, and never giving up, was exactly the inspiration I needed to keep moving forward during one of the most difficult times of my life.

More than that, she always did it with a smile on her face. Though we shed tears, her smile lit up the room. It was the glimmer of hope that will all needed to see, showing us that it was going to be alright.

But one of the biggest things she gave to me while she laid in that hospital bed, was a much better understanding of my faith. As I gained faith in her that she would pull through, I also gained faith in myself. I gained faith that I would do everything I possibly could for her, her family, and myself.

My faith in God multiplied and multiplied. If I didn’t know the power in prayer before, I sure learned it then. If I didn’t believe in miracles before, I became a believer. I had faith – faith that the big man upstairs knew exactly what He was doing. I had faith that she was going to be okay. I learned so much about myself through her that it's hard to even fathom.

She fought long, hard, and brave, for two and a half years. She gained her angel wings, and left us with more than she probably can imagine. She changed our worlds, and her fight for life only heightened that. She left us with love, memories, and peace. I could not imagine a life without her and her courageous battle.

You earned your wings, babygirl. You earned ‘em.