Hey there, sweetie.

I remember the day I saw you, though I'll be the first to admit my eyes were bleary. I'm not sure who cried harder, but mine were tears of joy. When they bundled you up and handed you back to your very tired mum I couldn't help but smile and smile until my mouth hurt. You look so much like her. You are so much like her, in all the best ways.

I remember seeing you light up with laughter as you played with grandma. I remember seeing you fall asleep on your mom's head and trying to stifle a laugh so hard I had to walk outside. I remember seeing you on your first day of school, walking with you and your mum on the way there. We cried a little bit after you went in.

I remember the anger when your teacher told us you were getting bullied, and I remember the incandescent pride when she said it was because you were sticking up for another student. I'm so proud of you.

I remember the quiet desperation when we sat with your mum in the hospital, nothing but beeps and hissing. You were so brave – didn't get that from me, either. I remember the time afterwards, too, the blur of black clothes and rain. You kept going. You kept me going.

You're the kind of person the world needs so much; heart of a hero and the dedication of a caretaker. When the people here ask me to talk about you, I tell them, "Imagine if hope was a person, if kindness could walk, and if selflessness could give hugs." You do give good hugs.

You've been through so much, but you never let your anger turn to cruelty or your disappointment turn to despair. You are so much like your mother, and so much more. I wish I were like you, too.

You certainly don't deserve this. I can't pretend I'm not afraid – not of the people here, not of the end, not even of you seeing me like this – I'm afraid of losing any piece of you. If I had a movie of every moment we spent together I'd watch it on repeat from now until the end of time, every laugh, every tear, every triumph, disappointment, fear, and victory.

I know you know how your grandma passed, but there's a difference between knowing it and living it. I know you'll beat yourself up if you don't visit, and I know that telling you not to won't make a difference. You'd set yourself on fire to keep me warm. You're so much like your mother.

I don't know when I won't be able to use words any more. When that time comes, though, just remember that when I look at you what I'm really trying to say is, "I love you." I love you, little one.