When I was about 8 years old, I guess you could say my life had already become a miniature version of the gigantic mess it still had yet to become. The first piece of really nice clothing I ever worn was a pitch black penguin suit; barely. I even wore a black button-down shirt under the coat. This was so I could look presentable at my father's funeral, whoever that was. I still remember the look on my mother's face 15 years ago when she told me that this man I had never even met had died. Her eyes were flooding over, but the rest of her face looked smooth and solemn, like she knew this would happen. It wasn't until 1 year later, that I learned this death was a long time coming. My father was deathly sick for 8 years; since I was born. He was plagued with a fatal case of lymphoma he had been fighting for all those years. All those years I did not know him when I should have. I could have.

Death is so bitter-sweet in a way I wasn't able to fathom back then. I understand now, but back then I wish someone had told me that death happens all the time to the 7 billion people in this world constantly. Everyone experiences some form of death in their lives. Whether it be the loss of someone else's or their own. I should have understood when both my grandparents died by their age, I should have understood when my little brother didn't make it out of the womb. I should have understood that all this happens because it has to. That's why I'm careful.

Since then, I hadn't believed yet that all these people were dying all around me until I turned 13 and my mother was followed home and shot at her front door by the woman she gave birth to and raised. My sister, my best friend at the time. She lived with her husband but since that night, she had been living in a prison cell. They tell me I was lucky because I was on a school trip that came home late, but I don't believe that I was truly lucky to have my mother shot instead of me and my sister sent to prison instead of me. I don't believe it.

That brings me to today, 10 years later. Today I am heading to the funeral of my best friend, my love, my family. The person I used to call home for 5 years of my morbid life. Death stops for no one. I understand.