Kelly...She came when she wasn't supposed to. The doctors said my mother couldn't have any more children. Mum had had a lot of trouble having my brother and me, and they had given up hope on any others, as having two children when you were told you couldn't have any was incredible as it was.

My brother and I were practically grown and had settled into our first and second child syndromes comfortably. My parents had not planned on anymore children and there didn't seem to be any logical reason behind why a baby would come into their life when they were in their forties and things were settled. Despite what was said, Kelly came anyway and arrived on July 8, 1991. I was 15 and often times wondered where this little girl in my life had come from. Was she an alien come to pay me back for the torture I'd put my younger brother through? Was she here to take up more space in our house and to force me out of my solo bedroom experience which I'd had for 15 years? Whatever the reason, it didn't make sense. I however accepted her whole heartedly and didn't feel the need to fight over who got to hold the baby for longer, with my cousin anymore.

Kelly has turned into a beautiful girl and has always been special. Dad used to call her "Boo". He was funny like that and gave us all nicknames when we were little. None of them ever had any real meaning. I was "Duffa" and my brother "The Rooster". Dad liked to poke us in the stomach when we were kids. He seemed to be a really great "baby Dad" and sat with her laughing that silent laugh he had when she would argue in her toddler voice, over the latest card game they were playing. Their relationship was developing the same way he and I used to interact when I was her age.

Kelly is now 12. In this photograph she sits in the cometary where our father is buried. I'm never quite sure if she understands why we go there or if she thinks anything much at all about why he left, like I do. She seems to have dealt with his passing a lot more maturely than I have, and yet she's a baby. A baby without a Dad. The night he died, she and her two young cousins sat with my Aunt and talked about where he had gone. My little cousin Harrison, who was 7 at the time, rationalised that Dad was now an angel who would look down on Kelly when she needed him.

My mother and I have had a hard time understanding why he was taken from us, and I've realised that Kelly came to us for that very reason. Mum has a reason to keep moving every day, to keep breathing in and out, to do the washing up and to pay the bills. Kelly.

Kelly has saved her and maybe all of us, from just throwing up our arms and giving up on life. Many days I do feel there is no point, and I'm sure my Mum feels the same way. But with Kelly in our lives, there's no chance of that happening. She came to us to keep us living.

In 1991, we may not have known why we were given little Kelly Bell, but now we do. She was our present and I know that through her, my Mum, brother and I grow stronger every day.

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