After months of extreme suffering, fear and hopelessness on C.’s part, fear for her, pain because of her suffering and constant inner turmoil on my part, all the sudden there was something like real hope. In hindsight, I realize that the black clouds were already gathering at that time, I just didn’t want to see them—so shortly before the longed-for return home. It’s not a memory, this sight of C., the photo taken three months before her death, has burned itself into my mind like a stamp, accompanying me the whole time.