"I am thankful to God for all the great things He has done for me," Luz says as she walks Matt and me to the suspension bridge that takes us from her secluded neighborhood. "If my daughter is meant to be healed, she will be. If she is meant to be taken from me, she will be. That is in His hands."

The image returns to me of Patricia, Luz' mentally disabled daughter, watching us out of the corner of her window on our first visit. I remember her vacant eyes and gaunt face. Patricia's clothes hung loosely, and her hair was never brushed back. She passed most days curled up on her twin bed under the only window in the two-room wood home.

Before we left on our last visit, Luz asked if Matt would mind photographing Patricia. When he agreed, Luz entered her home and, beaming pride, she helped her daughter to her feet. She propped up Patricia next to her. Then Luz smiled for the both of them.

As we walked away, I peeked into Patricia's window. She was lying across the bed with her legs bent at the knees.

"Adios, Patricia," I said. She slowly turned her head toward me and in a hoarse whisper I heard for the first time, "Adios."

--Mónika Lugo