After my sister, Cindy, died, I was amazed that the rest of the world went on as usual. This immediate sense of isolation hit full force when, from the window of a limo en route to her funeral, I watched the world go by.

Before the limo picked us up for the funeral, some family pictures were taken. We all looked so morose. I sat in the back of the limo between my parents and held Mom’s hand. Her hand was very warm whereas my own hand felt like ice. I looked at Mom. She looked at me. She squeezed my hand. I felt like a zombie.

The limo driver was a young woman who took us along the waterfront around Richmond, B.C. Canada.

It was a long ride on a sunny day.

I looked out the window and watched the people, the trees, the water, the birds, everything go by.

Life was still carrying on out there.

Life was at a standstill for me.

I dreaded arriving at the funeral home, wondering what it would be like. I thought, “My God, we will be paying our respects to Cindy. She is dead. She must be. If everyone is acting this way and going to her funeral, then she must be dead.”

Oh God, I hadn’t wanted it to be true.

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
The unsolved mystery of the death of Cindy James