The day that my sister was shot and killed will haunt me forever. We were at a family reunion and received a phone call in the middle of the night from my ex-brother-in-law. He let us know that my sister had been shot, and they didn’t know if she would make it or not. He had not been able to get a hold of my parents, so we waited a couple of hours, figuring it could be the last night of good sleep they received for some time. Having to wake up my parents with that news was horrible. We still didn’t know if she was alive or dead, but at that point, we assumed the worst. Less than an hour later, our fears were confirmed. Almost six months later, we still don’t know who shot her or why. She had been estranged from our family for several years, but the pain wasn’t any less; perhaps it was worse. Things that should have been said were never communicated. She was a mother of two, the youngest age 10.