Elena and I flew up to Sacramento a week ago to introduce The Roxie Rules Act alongside Senator Anthony Portantino. It was a day of satisfaction and sorrow.

Roxie died from a preventable drowning at Summerkids camp in Altadena eight months ago. And we drowned with her. The truth is, if proper oversight and accountability were at play last June, Roxie would likely be seated in my lap right now, watching videos of herself on family vacations.

But politics and certain people being what and who they are, Roxie will never take another breath. Elena and I struggle to do the same.

Introducing a bill in Roxie’s honor was indeed a “moment.” We have worked around the clock—since the day Roxie left this world—to understand what went terribly wrong and how this foundation can course-correct here forward.

It has been nothing short of a brutal exercise. In fact, as I type these words, tears pour out, body shakes, breaths are hard to come by. But our baby deserved nothing less than our everything. And so do other children. We simply do not understand how such an utter lack of accountability and care are allowable if not normalized in this world.

This bill is big. Elena and I drafted more than 40 pages on our own, and after a few more weeks of scrutiny with legislative counsel, we finally introduced a 34-page piece that attempts to bridge all of the colossal crevasses into which little ones have plummeted year after year.

After we left the Senate floor, Elena and I made our way through labyrinthine corridors and out unto the lush grounds that blanketed Capitol Park. I will never forget the dissonance between the azure sky above and our broken hearts below.

We cried. And we cried. And we cried more. All the while, a photographer was snapping candids of us for a soon-to-be published feature for an investigative news organization. To say it was surreal is an understatement of understatements.

An hour later, we made our way to the headquarters of the California Department of Social Services where we met senior officials to discuss our bill, galvanize support for the future and explain what an absolute mess the current system is. In not so many words, he agreed with the latter point. And therein lies the tragedy.

We told him that our foundation had been paying someone to aggregate data in an effort to shine a light on just how anemic camp oversight has been. Tragically, he requested our data. Yes, here is a state agency in the world’s fifth largest economy requesting data from a foundation owned and operated by two people. Breathtaking.

Regardless, we did it. We worked our asses off morning, noon and very late at night. We pushed our way through complex political machinery to potentially make a bit of history here in a state that operates more like a country unto itself. We should be proud.

But we aren’t. Because we should not be here in the first place.

We do want to thank our families, our friends, our community members and our donors whose support enabled us to tackle research effort after research effort, produce events day and night, establish important strategic alliances, travel to meeting after meeting and much more which ultimately led us to take the flight to Sacramento where our little girl’s name will be forever etched in stone.

Yes, it’s game on. We need to pass this legislation this year, and we need to make certain it is properly enforced every year thereafter. However, this is no joy. This is no salvation. This is no means to magically bring our girl back. It is simply a way to somehow honor Roxie’s soulful presence until the day we can no longer see that bright azure sky above.