The time for remorse would have been when my husband was yelling to breathe. That would have been the time for him to show some type of remorse or some type of care for another human being’s life—when he was screaming eleven times that he can’t breathe! So there’s nothing that him, or his prayers, or anything else would make me feel any different. No, I don’t accept his apology. No, I could care less about his condolences. No, I could care less—he’s still working, he’s still getting a paycheck, he’s still feeding his kids. And my husband is six feet under, and I’m looking for a way to feed my kids now. Who’s gonna play Santa Claus for my grandkids this year? Because he played Santa Claus for my grandkids… who’s going to do that now?