It starts pleasantly enough with me and my baby wadding in some water with friends at a family camp. I get called upon, have to attend to something or another so I ask my friend Cheryl to watch my little one who is sitting contently in a floaty. I have been gone a few minutes at most.

As I am making my way back I see my baby scrimmaging out of the safety buckle and standing on the flotation device. Nobody is minding her. I yell for help but I might as well be mute. I scream obscenities in an effort of getting someones attention. She cannot stand. Not on her own. Don't they realize this? She's only seven months old. I run but do not move. I watch as she falls in the water yet still no one has taken note. I jump in after her. I think, "This can not be happening to me, can it? Not again... I can't lose another one. How could it... ".

We dive under, searching, hoping to retrieve her but it is useless. My baby is gone. The following day they drain the lake and find my baby's body just to the other side of where she first went under.

Fast forward to the funeral. A small white chapel, white roses, white coffin. This is how it should be I think to myself. She was so small and innocent. So pure. My baby...