I lost my husband, Terry, on July 13th 1992. He was my rock and the one man I trusted to lead me safely through life. And he was only 42; I was 38. He left for work that morning like any other day the morning of July 1st. The day before he had taken the kids to buy fireworks. As usual, he spent too much and I fussed at him for spoiling them as I usually did, not ever dreaming it would be for the last time. Some time early that afternoon, while trying to unhook a chain from a screen he was taking out of a quench tank at work, he lost his footing and fell into the tank, which was full of water heated to almost boiling. They pulled him out only to drop him as his skin slid off the first time .The second time he was able to be pulled out and rushed by lifeflight to the hospital.There he was dignosed with a 98 % body burn which started out 2nd degree and later turned into 3rd degree. Terry hung on for several days in agony before mercifully going into a peaceful coma. On the 13th day he died of multiple organ failure and I lost my Terry and my world came crashing down around me. I was numb for many weeks and then I got mad and stayed mad. So much in fact, that I couldn't feel anything else. People began to say I didn't care that he died and that made me even angrier! I started doing things to prove them right cause they were right about one thing - I just didn't care. Not about anything. I felt my life was over. Then one day I discovered my youngest daughter was so depressed that she had been hearing voices telling her she was bad. I knew the time had come for me to go for the kind of help we both needed. Not only counseling, but to God. I can't say I got better over night, but through many months of counseling and studying Gods word, I began to live again. One step at a time I took and one step at a time I got through it. Praise God He never left me alone and waited for me to seek Him.