When I was eighteen, Kalene was nineteen. When I was nineteen, Kalene was dead. I wore Grandma's old green dress. It was loose on me and the cotton was worn and thin. I woke up and wished I was dead too. Then I watered her violets and looked at her china goats and didn't wish I was dead so much. I saw all the old nail polishes she never threw away and then saw that things would continue and I was so appalled that Kalene couldn't I wished everything was dead. I went to the funeral mass with my family. We cried and reached out for and hated death. Mom touched my hair. She loved me. We went to the graveyard. Someone had dug a hole. Mom tried to jump in. That night I closed my eyes and tried to think about a way to live without Kalene. Everything inside of me was pain so it was hard to think. Looking back, I am proud because morning came and there I was. It's been a year and here I am.