I can't recall exactly what happened, I can't remember what happened either. All I knew was I didn't want to go back. Ever. When they were done with me they threw me back into the room, the little boy ran over to me and hugged me tightly, I hugged back. All I wanted to do was tell him it was going to be okay. Tears emitted from my eyes, not many but a few. The boy pointed over to an older woman, and then pointed to himself. The woman was his mom, I went over to her and waved, she waved back. She knew sign language, I recalled some that we learned in school, she told me she was thankful for the support I was giving Thomas, (the boy), she was ill and didn't think she was going to make it much longer so she was glad there was some one for him. The next day the woman died. Thomas imeditally ran to me, his tears staining my torn shirt, I rubbed his back gently. We heard the door creak open once again, the man stood there with a body bag, as if he had known she was going to die.