Every time I tell this story, it fills my heart with such deep sadness, I get choked up with tears, it brings back so many very painful memories. You see, I am that 11 year old girl, or rather, I used to be her, I am no longer 11 years old. Today at present, I am old and gray, I am 99 years old and I am dying, I don't have much longer to live.

I don't know just how much time I have left, in two weeks I will be turning 100 years old, it is very doubtful that I will live to see my one hundredth birthday. I can only hope and pray that I have enough time left to tell my story and write it down in a dairy before I take my final breath. 

As I lie here in bed trying to write, my hands are shaking and trembling, it is hard to hold the pen in my hands. It takes all my strength to hold the pen steady enough to write, it keeps slipping from between my fingers.

I am not alone, I have my two of my very best friends with me, sitting next to me at my bedside. They have been with me, by my side my entire life. They have had to put the pen back in my hands many times. They know that my life is quickly fading away, they wanted to be with me in my final days and hours. If I am not to finish telling and writing down my story, they have promised to finish it for me.

Many years have past since that horrible tragedy, and yet, it feels like it was only yesterday. It will be etched and seared in my brain for as long as I breath.