“That day was just an ordinary day like any other. I remember there was a little drizzle. We were constructing a new kitchen because there was a lot of smoke in the old one. He was on it from the very morning. After he had finished work, he was resting. It was time to go to church but he must have been tired, and I remember him telling me that he that I should go and he wanted to rest at home and finish the work that was left. But I had insisted that he come. “You have committed to the Lord, and it is our duty to give time to the church.” So, quietly he had come with me to church. When the church collapsed with everyone inside, the lord spared me but took him away. This wonderful person, without sin and without any ill feelings for anyone. He never laid a hand on me or yelled. I would sometime shout at him but not him. He always stayed around his family. That day, because I was injured I could not move. I had not seen him until the third day but I knew he had left me. Right before the burial I saw him, I remember touching his face and crying for him to come back but he slept there in silence. I called out his name but he kept quiet. I ran my hands on his face over and over again but he didn’t say anything. As the villagers pulled me and took me away, I cursed my fate. If only I had let him rest that day, if only I had not taken him to church.” (Mishri Biswokarma, Ghumthang 7, Sindhupalchowk)