Mi Hija, Mi Corazon

She would have turned 8 years old April 4th.
How can I miss someone I never laid eyes on so damn much?
She was the product of a rape when I was 14 years old.
She was an unexpected after shock of losing my virginity the hard way.
She was my daughter.
Nothing has ever hurt worse than losing Astaria Rhiannon.
I see so many girls- most of them so young, nineteen or twenty, maybe, seeing their status updates. They got pregnant with their boyfriend's kid, some of them happily, others not, some get married, some don't.
It seems like every day someone else has come up pregnant.
Not that I hate them for it, it's just so hard to see.
I miscarried Astaria after a few months, I still remember waking up to it, and the nightmares that haunted me before I woke up to reality.
I was young, maybe my body couldn't handle it, or maybe it was the medication. I don't know, and never will.
I know that Mother's Day and April 4th, and many other, unexpected days, my heart hurts for something I can't quite define. I didn't want children until I felt her growing inside of me. I still didn't want to get married, even after acknowledging how much I wanted a child.
I miss that little girl, the one I've dreamt about so many times, the one I swear I've seen grow up in my dreams.
I tell myself she's up there with her great grand parents and her Grandpa Bob.
I tell myself she's happy.
I can't convince myself that it doesn't hurt, though.
It's been nine years since I woke up to the blood and pain. At least the blood stopped.