She... is my daughter.
Tuesday, Apr. 15, 2008 - 1:54 p.m.

She had blue eyes.
She had long (really long) blonde hair that she wanted to donate to locks of love.
She had 6 tattoos (with one cover up, so is that 7?).
She had hands that looked exactly like my oldest sisters.
Her big toes turned slightly in.
She had her nose pierced, her lip pierced. Other parts pierced that I don't even know what to call them.
She had wings carved on her back.
She was destined to be an angel.
She LOVED hearts.
She was my valentine baby.
She loved Vanilla Ice and Milli Vanilli back in the day.
She was an artist.
She wrote a book in kindergarten.
She taught herself how to play the guitar in her 20's.
She liked to draw.
When she was in jail everybody came to her for tattoos. (I know, under normal circumstances I wasn't so impressed with this one either. But it just proved to me that she was and wanted to be an artist by any means.)
She was a feminist.
She was a bi-sexual. (I say this only because she was quite proud of that fact)
She loved to skateboard.
She questioned Everything.
She called me mommy until the day she died.
She was learning sign language.
she was 25.

I need to chronicle this. I've come to realize we take for granted too many of the small things. I want to remember it all, so that some day I can tell her children about her. Someday I want to be able to answer their questions. I know I can't answer all of them, but I want to be able to answer Most of them.

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