Three years ago, at 10:35 PM, my beautiful daughter was removed from my body and held above the surgical drape on my abdomen. I remember crying and speaking to her, whispering into her ear in Armenian, because that was the first language I wanted her to hear. I whispered her gypsy name to her: the name that will never be used, that only I spoke, she heard, and the earth knows.
It's so hard to believe that three years are past. I can't imagine what my life would've been like without her upbeat energy and goofy smile.
I love you, my heart. Many, many happy returns of the day.
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