6 Years...

June 24, 2026

Melina,

I sit here and think: six years. How can that even be true? How can I imagine one second of my life without you in it? Then there is the irony of grief, because there hasn't been one moment of a day that I haven't thought about you not being here with us.

Today is a day I wish I could erase. A day when the world lost a gift. A day when I lost a part of me forever. A day that changed all of us. A day that we will always know and remember. But it's also a day where I don't get to stop the world. I don't get to tell everyone to just take June 24th off, because I would like to sit this one out.

But then I see you...And I think of how you handled every day of the last 32 we had with you...

You woke us up at the crack of dawn. I made you wait until at least 6:00 a.m. before we would sneak over to Nay Nay and Poppy's to visit them. Then you planned the days—from pool parties, to making everyone create bracelets, to Starbucks runs, glue sticks, and bad show tunes.

When the days got harder and your energy was down, you made us take you everywhere, along with all your toys, because you never let us stop. You never let the hurt sink all the way in.

When the fear got too big for me and I knew it was the end, you told me to "get it together” because I was just “being a big cry baby."

You made choices. Even when I knew we were at the end, you lived. And you did it for us.

The last week of your life, you lived for your family. You gave us a gift. Everything you ever did was for everyone else. Because even six years later, there may always be questions, but there is always one certainty: you were magic.

Six years later, through all this heaviness and hurt, you have given me so many gifts.

From the friends you brought into our lives to the ones who showed up and always will. You showed me the amount of good in this world. You showed me the rainbows. And you remind me every day that I always have choices.

Today I reflect on the greatest risks I ever took in life, and that was my three beautiful girls. I know now that it is from the greatest pains we have in life that we find the greatest worth. Having children is a risk. I can't control the world, stop bad things, or prevent pain. I can only love you through it.

Melina, you are one of the greatest risks I ever took. And even knowing how your story ended, I would take that risk again and again to have the four and a half years I had with you. Because your joy is greater than any pain I have ever felt.

I have lived six years without you, and I have hurt in ways I never thought possible. But no matter how dark or painful those moments were, I see you. I see my beautiful strawberry blonde with all your trashy Cheetos. I hear your Starbucks order. I see your light, and I can't help but smile. Because not even death can steal your joy.

Today I will hurt. But today I will choose to get up. I will choose to focus on your sisters. And I will, much to your dismay, be a big cry baby.

But know that those tears are only temporary. Because when I "get it together," I know I will see you right there in all the magic. Because I choose to find the joy.

The other ironic twist in grief is that you always taught me that I had a choice, just like you. Little did I know you were teaching me how, six years later, I could still have you there with me.

Because every time I choose joy, I find you. 💚

Love you to the moon and back and the stars, always baby girl alway 💚🌈💚

Mommy