In the presence of the body that was Ann Hussar, one cannot believe; I cannot believe. Although we knew, for months. She knew, for months. It could not be believed. I cannot believe. Even in this room of flowers, hothouse flowers, cut flowers, arranged flowers, I cannot believe. Despite all the lipstick, despite the pink nail polish, despite all Charon’s art: this is not real! I cannot believe. No! It is a statue, a statue to be erected by the grateful people of Oakland, whom she knew, whom she helped, whom she loved. I cannot believe. Numberless as leaves, her labors for the people. How can the tree fall when the leaves are still green? I cannot believe. “Who can retell…” asks the song. But what hero or sage comes now to our aid? I cannot believe. People’s Oakland without her, Family Services without her, South Oakland Citizens’ Council, Community Human Services, Community Action Pittsburgh …… I can’t list them all, the groups that she helped build. I don’t even know them all. I cannot believe. All … all our work, all Oakland, all without her. I cannot believe. How can one person leave so many holes in so many groups, in so many lives? I cannot believe. So woven, so bound, like the moon to the sea, like a great oak tree: she will not leave. I cannot believe. No! Someone will come, as she lies here. Someone will call out her name. Someone will say once again “Ann, I need your help.” And she will rise.