I am trying so hard not to cry but the tears are welling up making it hard for me to type. Oops, there they go. The differences between the mother worried about her baby in the dark and the rain and the mother living the bella vita while her daughter was -- well, you know all the horrible things that poor baby suffered -- the differences are gigantic. I lost my husband last November and I thought I was doing well until this month when his birthday and father's day rolled around one week from each other. I thought I was doing well considering he was progressively ill with dementia since 1998, but I've been hit big-time with grief this month. I need to do something because I am slipping into somewhere I don't want to be. It surprises, angers, mystifies, and sickens me that KC can go live the bella vita after her daughter's death - even if she didn't do it (which I think she did). My heart is full of pain from a more or less natural death - and she sits there stone faced and angry during testimony that breaks the hearts of people who will never know Caylee Marie. I am not a saint, but I changed the diapers of a grown man, bathed him, comforted him, feed him, sang to him, read to him, loved him, and held him in my arms as he lay dying, pleading me with his eyes to not let go. When I finally had to, it was so hard. Because most of us have loved so much and have lost so much through the years, we are outraged at what this young mother has done and even more so at what she continues to do. With every lie she murders her beautiful child over and over again. She needs to rot in hell while her daughter plays games with my Papa Joe. He will love to tease her and make sure she suffers for nothing in their special place.