Seven Days, Yet a Life Time

I had buried myself in an endless sea of paperwork, delving into every detail, reading everything I could possibly find to ensure that every form, every requirement, and every regulation was meticulously followed to the letter. I wanted to make absolutely certain that your foundation took flight without violating even the smallest of State or IRS rules. My focus remained unbroken, unwavering, until I heard the familiar echo of Ms. Rachel's "Icky Sticky Bubble Gum" song reverberating through the house. My heart jumped, a mix of hope and longing, and I rushed to the living room, expecting to see you there, rubbing your little hands together in that sweet, endearing way you always did. But the room was empty, cold, and lifeless, devoid of the warmth and joy your presence always brought. Only the song lingered in the air, haunting and bittersweet, and in that moment, the crushing reality hit me like a blow to the chest. You weren’t there. You would never be there again. The weight of that truth was unbearable. The tears began flowing uncontrollably, and the air around me felt too heavy, too suffocating to breathe. It’s been seven long, excruciating days since God took you from us, and no amount of time, no days, months, or years, will ever make that pain truly go away.