A photographer came in and took this photograph after John’s passing. Silver hair filled my scalp, the ratio seemed to be 2:1 against my black hair. “Strange,” I thought to myself seeing as though I would turn 29 in a couple of weeks. I also began to develop crow’s feet. Although my physical damage could not compare to the psychological damage. The apartment, located in the Bronx, still reeked of cigarettes due to John’s habits. My mind was fixed on two things, Raihjonah and Kendra. I focused on nothing more than how we were going to survive. My heart would drop at the sound of innocent little Kendra’s stomach roar due to hunger. I prayed endlessly for the lord’s assistance, begging and pleading for him to awake me from this seemingly endless nightmare. For two months I did nothing but hunt for jobs days on end. In fact that same afternoon I had just returned from searching for about 6 hours, but this was New York everybody was looking for jobs and it seemed my luck had run dry. As I approached the door of our broken down apartment, I remember seeing the icing on the cake, an eviction notice. I felt completely lost. I had no family to turn to, and John’s family never accepted me or our children since we never married. Homeless shelters came to mind, but in New York a city with a homeless population of almost 60,000 they filled within mere minutes of opening their doors. I felt trapped in a corner, my life fell apart within months, and there was nothing I could do. Hopelessness filled everyone of my thoughts.