Most of the time, I can deal with your death. I can hold back the tears and accept that you’re gone.
I force myself to believe the cliche words that get thrown around, about how God takes His favorites first. About how it was your time and how everything happens for a reason.
But sometimes, that silver linings attitude fades away and all I can feel is anger. Hurt. Betrayal.
I’m sorry that I can’t be strong all the time. That there are days when I question my faith. Days when I hate the world and every person inside of it. Days when I’m bitter about the way life turned out.
I’m sorry that I can’t walk around with unflinching hope when I know how ****** this world is. I’m sorry I’m not perfect. I’m sorry I carry so much anger inside.
I’m ******, because you left your family behind. You left people who still needed your love, your voice, your hugs, your kisses. People who cared about you more than they cared about themselves. People who would do anything to have one more minute with you.
I’m ******, because I keep seeing these ****** people running around without a care in the world, living for decades longer than you had the chance to. Because the goodness in your heart should have earned you more days, months, years.
I’m ******, because you deserved better. You deserved to celebrate more milestones. You deserved to see the people around you grow up. You deserved to grow old yourself and pass away peacefully in your sleep after ninety years of living your best life.
I’m ******, because it’s not fair. That sounds whiny to say, childish, but it’s the truth. What happened to you wasn’t fair. What happened to your family wasn’t fair. Nothing about your death was fair.
I miss you. And I hate that I miss you, because I shouldn’t have to. I should be able to call you up. I should be able to knock on your door. I should be able to see you face-to-face anytime I want.
You should still be here, right now, sending me texts to ask how I’ve been doing. You should still be here, right now, giving me a reason to laugh instead of cry. You should still be here, right now, alive and well.
No matter how many cliches are thrown at me about how only the good die young, no matter how many of those sayings I choose to believe to find some semblance of comfort, I will always believe that your death was *******.
I will always believe that there was some sort of mistake, that you didn’t deserve it. 
I will always believe that you deserved so much more.