As I lay, gasping for air, my lungs searching for life, and my heart clawing for hope. I try to find the moment it all changed. When did the warmth in death's hands feel so cold? But it’s not fear holding my hand in my last moments. It’s not sorrow, it’s not guilt. It’s bitterness. Because death rejected me when it was my friend, and now it comes for me as my foe.