My youngest daughter’s funeral was Friday, January 2, 2009. Her name is Roxanne and she was twenty-four years old. The day she died was the darkest day of my life. I have two other daughters, so I am trying to keep myself together for them. But I really want to weep and wail and let this never-ending pain just engulf me. I want to lose myself in it, just let it consume me until I no longer exist. I keep thinking of the women in the Bible in their sackcloth and ashes. My baby girl died in her sister’s bedroom. The paramedics had put her on the floor to administer to her and that’s where she was when I got there. I lay down beside her on the floor and put my arm around her. I caressed her beautiful face and stroked her arm. She looked so innocent, like when she was sleeping. I remember telling her that her pain was over with now and that I loved her. I watched the coroner carry her out. I watched until they shut the door on the ambulance. I knew that would be the last time I saw her. I had my daughter cremated. I will never be the same.