My vision was blurry from crying so hard. I had been standing in line for what seemed like days when it was my turn to say goodbye to Tasha. I crept up to the edge of the coffin she laid in—face made up in a way she would hate, a scarf tied around her neck to conceal the marks the rope had left. I felt another gush of grief rush through me and bent down to pretend to tie my shoelaces in a quick attempt to regain some composure. I stood up and kissed Tasha’s face—hardened, sweet and young forever—and turned around to the hundreds of people that filled the funeral home, all indistinguishable from each other.