I knew, so solidly, that everything would be okay. That Hindi would come back from this. That soon our family would be discussing the huge miracle that occurred.

I knew it.

And then in one sickening moment, everything broke.

I didn’t believe the words I was reading. For hours afterward I waited for someone to say it was a mistake. That it wasn’t true. That everything wasn’t destroyed.

I consistently and constantly use words to express myself, but this time there weren’t any. Like being socked in the stomach, I couldn’t breathe, let alone write or speak. Only silence felt suitable in the wake of such an immense tragedy.

And so, I was silent.

For the first time all year, I missed writing a weekly blog post.

Every other time, I couldn’t justify breaking my commitment, I couldn’t allow myself to let a week go by without forcing myself to write something.

But when G-d kicks you in the gut, nothing matters anymore.

There were no words. I didn’t want to create words. I didn’t want to be a part of this tragedy, I didn’t want to raise my voice, I didn’t want to hear my words echo in such a cruel world.

And as I sit here, writing with tears in my eyes, wearing a dress and heels I’m trying on for a friends wedding I’ll be at next week, reality makes less sense to me than it ever has.

G-d took a mother from her children. A wife from her husband. A daughter, a sister, an aunt from her family, a teacher from her students.

Someone whom I’ve always, always admired.

In a world of false realities, Hindi was real.

She didn’t know how to work social media, she was all about honesty and truth.

The meals I shared with her and her family at her parent’s house I always remember so fondly, even before this horrible tragedy. She was quick to include me in conversation, ask me honest questions and listen, oh so well.

In a world of distraction, Hindi was here.

In a world of easy ways out, Hindi worked so hard to achieve her dreams.

Her babies are now left to grow up without her – how? They are surrounded by so much support and love, but nothing on earth can replace a mother.

As I take my next steps in life, I wish I could have spoken to her sooner about how to do it all. How to have the family and the career, how to maneuver the education system, how to bring positive change to the world, how to raise children to be open-minded and intuitive. But I missed my chance. I missed my chance to tell her how much I’ve admired her. I missed my chance to ask all my questions.

A part of me is broken, and always will be.

These things don’t go away. There will always be hard-hitting reminders about this new ugly reality we live in.

And for a long time, there will be so many moments that it feels like there is no air to breathe.

G-d knows what He did. Somewhere deep inside me, I believe His tears are mixed with ours. As I cry into my pillow, furious with Him, I desperately pray that He knows enough is enough.

If you are able, please consider donating any size donation to this fund, for the future of Hindi’s five children: