Nothing could have prepared me for what I was going to discover during my mother’s funeral. The level of trepidation I felt as I drew closer to my destination was kept at bay by the mere thought of my only surviving sister Elizabeth being there with me, to keep me company, share the pain of bereavement with me. We had lost nine of our siblings, some as toddlers and others as grown women. My sister met me and walked with me towards the crowd of moaners, crying in each other’s arms as we walked. Our mother, our rock and prayer worrier had gone. We had lost a total of eleven people altogether including our dad. My mother was put to rest. I returned to England after ten days not knowing that would be the last time I would see my sister. She passed away less than a year after my mum. Out of eleven siblings, I was left alone. This is the story of my journey through life as a lone survivor. It is the story of how I have embraced my healing and found purpose for living despite my loss.