I don’t know how to write something like this. There are no words big enough to hold what it means to lose my daughter. Nita was my baby—no matter how old she got, no matter how far she went in life, she was always that little girl with the big eyes and the even bigger heart.

She came into this world with a fire in her spirit. Even as a child, she felt everything—more than most people do in a lifetime. She loved hard, thought deeply, and never backed down from what she believed in. She could make you laugh and call you out in the same breath. She had this way of seeing through people, straight to their soul. And somehow, even when she was hurting, she still managed to care for everyone else.

Nita was sensitive and stubborn, strong and vulnerable. She was complex—so much more than anyone could sum up in a few sentences. She had dreams she chased with everything she had, even when the world felt heavy. And when she loved, she gave all of herself.

There were things she struggled with—things I wish I could’ve taken from her, eased for her, fixed. But she fought hard. And she never stopped being my daughter—the one I was proud of every single day, even if I didn’t say it enough.

I’ll never stop missing her. I’ll never stop wishing for one more hug, one more laugh, one more chance to tell her how much I love her. Because I did. I do. Always.

If you knew her, hold onto that. Remember the real her. The honest her. The beautiful, messy, brave soul she was.

Rest easy, my girl. You were loved more than you ever knew.