A week shy of 26 years. That’s what today is.

Today, 26 years ago, you were still with me. Not well, but with me. You could talk to me, place your hand on my belly and feel your granddaughter move. That same granddaughter who, today, carries your name.

Today, 26 years ago, I could still see your smile. I could walk in your house, and even though you were in a hospital bed, I could still walk in and hold your hand. I could still visit with you.

Today, 26 years ago, I could hear you try to laugh when you weren’t thinking about your sickness, about your health. I could hear you talking to my son, your grandson. He would laugh along with you. That day, he had no idea you wouldn’t be here to see him grow up. You wouldn’t be able to meet the wonderful young lady who is the love of his life.

Today, 26 years ago, I watched your mother, my grandmother take care of you. Not knowing in my heart how hard it must have been for her to watch her child slowly slip away. Because at that time, I was lost in my own pain. My own hurt of how I was going to raise my toddler and soon to be newborn without the guidance of a mom.

Today, 26 years ago, I still held out hope that a miracle would happen. I still prayed that God would intervene and that the doctors would be proven wrong. I smiled for everyone around me while internally begging for things to change.

Today, 26 years ago, I would have lingered a little longer if I’d have known I only had a week left with you. I would have talked a little longer if I’d have known that I would not hear your voice again after that week.

Today, 26 years ago, without knowing, I was quickly on a path to learning that life wasn’t fair. And without knowing it, or maybe I did, I was slowly preparing to say goodbye.

Today, 26 years ago, you were still here. But in a short 7 days, you would be gone.

Now, 26 years later, it never gets any easier…

I still miss you, a week shy of 26 years.