It was a beautiful day. A perfect day by all rights. However, the beauty of the day was overshadowed by the ashen mood of those standing before the dark holes dug into the cold, hard ground. Though surrounded by dozens of family and friends, the green carpet of fake grass and the green manufactured canopy that sheltered them from the sun were a bitter reminder of why they were there-what had to be done.Brother Bob refused to look down at her as he spoke. It's God's will, he repeated over and over in his head. How could he even entertain, much less utter those words ever again? Words that he, as a pastor, now questioned. He stood over them, speaking words of amenity to the mourning crowd. He prayed for strength. For her, for their family. He prayed silently for strength for himself. There were those who heard his words as babbling and would find no value in them. And then there were those that would take comfort in them, finding strength and encouragement in their meaning. His eyes finally looked down at the young widow. What could he possibly say to diminish her grief? She sat perfectly still, numb from the events of the day. She didn't want to be there. She couldn't believe. It was too much. The words the preacher spoke were jumbled mutterings, falling silent around her. Her eyes rested on the thin embroidered, cotton handkerchief clutched between her fingers, moist with her tears. A hand touched hers, and she looked up, if only for a fraction of a moment. The face seemed oddly familiar, sweat delicately dampening his furrowed brow. His hand squeezed hers gently as he smiled just slightly though it seemed a forced, sad smile. How could he smile? How could anyone?Faces knelt before her, and talked above her, around her. More words; scripted, contrived, formulated, all saying the same thing. Prepared speeches and condolences, spit out over and over, pathetic attempts meant to comfort were simply verbal vomit that made her want to scream. Hands touched her and patted hers, making her feel uncomfortable. She shuddered and wrapped her hands around her arms, hugging herself tightly as she rocked forward. "Destiny?"Slowly she raised her head and looked into the eyes of her best friend, one of two people other than her husband she ever truly trusted; now one of the few people she had left in the world. "Destiny?"She tilted her head as if trying to understand what was said, as though it would make clearer what she was doing there."It's time." Lisa held her friend's face between her hands, nodding slowly. "It's time," she repeated, moving her hands to her friend's, feeling them tremble in her grasp.Somehow, Destiny couldn't stand. Not because of the air boot that she wore from her broken ankle, suddenly, she just didn't have the strength. Or the will. As if Lisa knew, she stepped back and took one arm as someone else took the other, and they helped Destiny to stand. The sea of strangers and familiar faces before them parted. Destiny looked ahead and gasped. Her knees suddenly buckled but the arms around her caught her, holding her up. They helped her hobble forward, inch by inch. There was no more talking, no more sounds, except occasional sniffs and soft sobs behind them. "It's okay," Lisa whispered.It will never be okay; Destiny screamed in her mind. It will never be okay again! ... In a breath of a moment, Destiny loses everything she cares anything about; her son, her husband, her faith and even herself. How does one overcome the guilt of still being alive?  Will the pain she encounters on the road to recovery be too much to bear or is she strong enough to begin again? Is her tattered heart truly closed off forever, or is there really another chance?