I was sitting on the purple speckled floor of the relief society room, playing with the restless 2-year-old. I had a grey dress on covered in pink flowers, my hair at its best, and my emotion unreadable. My mother stood next to the grey open casket as person after person walked up and hugged her. The tears were rolling down everyone's faces, and it seemed at the moment, no one was breathing. This death was untimely; he was too young. The celebration that usually came with grandparents, the knowledge that he was in a better place, was all distant. Because we all wanted him back.