Seven, the amount of commitments I made for that day. A schedule chock-full leaves little time for pain.

Seven, the amount of times I stopped myself from engaging in any social media apps. I knew they’d be full of pictures reminding us of your sass, your beautiful smile and spirit, pictures reminding me that those memories are all I’d ever have.

Seven, the amount of times I mentioned you to the kids that day. The amount of times I wish Brielle would have gotten to experience her fairy godmother. The amount of times I was reminded that Brielle embodies her fairy godmother with the light she shines.

Seven, the number of times I avoided mentioning your name or the day to your cousin when I saw her at the mall. I could feel grief bubbling within me, and I was a woman on a mission. Life is unfair; life does not care about grief. I had to forge forward with all the Quinceañera preparations. A Quinceañera you would have put your heart into photographing as you “Kaptured” memories. A Quinceañera we would have danced to old salsa and bachata and old skool hip hop til you complained about your knees. A Quinceañera you won’t be at.

It is said that if you remain friends for seven years then you will likely be friends forever more. I’m glad we met that checkpoint.

Seven, the number of years you’ve been gone.

I hope to see you again one day poots. For now, I’ll make do with watching your children blossom. With recalling our shenanigans. With reminding myself that instead of beating myself up about the type of friend I am, I can try and be better at all the things I loved about the type of friend you were.

You made this world a better place. You are loved and missed Rosalia Vazquez Hernandez.