As I stared at her lifeless face, I could not find it in myself to photograph her with her eyes slightly open, that is an image that is emblazoned upon my memory, just like the feel of her perfect, flawless back, such a contrast to her front with a railroad track scar and missing belly button. But her hands... her hands are my hands, nails bitten down the day before...lifeless, bloodless, and cold, so very cold. The hands that changed my diapers, the hands that caressed my cheek, the hands I used to hold.