My name is Deborah Craig and I had a twin sister. She died in December of 1995, just weeks before Christmas and just weeks after she turned thirty-seven years old. We could feel each other’s pain, we felt laughter together, and when we were kids, we were inseparable. I’m fifty-two years old now and I still feel cheated and left out because she is no longer here. For fifteen years now, every single day of my life, I think about and miss her so much, especially around the holidays. I think that dying is apart of living, but for most of us it’s still hard to accept, especially when you’re a twin because for years and years it was Debbie and Dottie. We were six minutes apart and sometimes I still cry so much because I’m not ready to accept that she is gone and her death could have been prevented. Her doctors in Denver put her on three types of medication in less than one week; it was toxic and it killed her. I use to blame God, but it’s man that corrupts society. Well, you might as well say life. People tell me it takes time to heal, but I have absolutely no one in this world who will talk to me about it, as if no one knows what to say. But it will always be a mystery to me why terrible people do just horrible things in life and live to be 104, and good people get some awful disease or get cancer, and innocent children get killed or die at such a young age. My point is that everyone in this place they call Earth has a destiny and should live life every day as if it were there last when you’re on this earth, make a difference in someone else’s life. The end.