She stood at the brink. She had heard this been used as a metaphor many times. “They are on the brink of destruction”, bringing this person to the brink, and so forth. She looked into the fathomless ravine. As She looked She saw faces emerge, She saw her mother, her father, her brother, the children who had become hers, the loved ones who needed her in their lives and all those who knew her through and through. She didn’t just see the faces but heard the voices; the laughter, the cries and the songs of these loved ones. With each face, each sound, and each memory the pain grew. She remembered the food that She and her mother shared on car trips, the conversations had. She remembered the feeling of the land felt through tires on road trips, songs sung with no care of tone, pitch, melody, or lyrics with her dad. She remembered the feel of shotguns and the sound of clay pigeons shattering shooting with her brother. She remembered the feeling of grass rolled in and the smell of rain