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Death hits everyone. Hard and weird. 
It’s weird to say that I was around death quite a bit growing up. I don’t remember my first real exposure to death, but I do remember when I was really really young being in a hospital waiting room waiting for some unknown reason while, what I found out later, the old lady that lived next door to me was dying. 
Soon after, my Great Grandfather died, and I got my first suit. Then my Great Grandmother died. Then my other Great Grandmother died. Then my other Great Grandfather died. 
Somewhere in between all of these deaths, I played in the cemetery that sat only a few blocks from my house. I remember seeing the light from the Eternal Flame while I sat awake at night trying to decide what growing up would mean for me. 
I’ve had friends die. A good friend died when I moved to Kansas. He was, in fact, the very first friend I had on school. I didn’t know him as well as everyone else did, but I remember crying while I got up to say something about him. 
Then my Grandpa died. Sure, I felt that one. But not in the same way. I wasn’t there. We moved, and I watched my grandmother descend into the madness that eventually will take most old people as their bodies begin to deteriorate. She lost her leg and called her stump Spongebob. In the mean time, I went to two more funerals. A close friend’s Grandfather, and then another friend’s Father. I began joking. 
When my Grandmother actually died, I couldn’t think of anything funny. I literally watched her die in front of me, and I left ten minutes before she actually went. I couldn’t even stick around for those final moments. I sat at the funeral, and I don’t know that I’ve ever been quieter. 
Two more Great Grandmothers died. 
It wasn’t until a class called Death and Grieving that I realized that I’m rather calloused when it comes to death. I laughed and joked my way through the whole class, though most everyone else took it way too seriously. 
My experience has caused me to not feel a lot when I hear someone has died. My crazy grandma and I were very close, but it didn’t hurt like it should have. 
Today though, I felt something. An aching sadness that I didn’t know still sat in my heart. I found out that someone in Colorado died. I didn’t know this person. I have no connection to him whatsoever. In fact, the only thing I actually know about him is his gender and that he died. He was a friend of my dear Sister Fish. 
You see, there are some people who should be too good, too pure, to be touched by this sort of thing. Having someone like that die. Someone you know, someone you interact with in a normal way. Death should not come near a person like my Sister, nor her sisters. It isn’t fair that they would be tainted that way. That they would have to experience something like that. 
Death should be left to people like me. Not-so-goodniks. People who are sadly used to the harsh reality of its presence. 
To his family. His friends. Especially you, Fish. My thoughts, prayers, and tears have been with you since I learned about it.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. 
“The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant. “

Death hits everyone. Hard and weird. 

It’s weird to say that I was around death quite a bit growing up. I don’t remember my first real exposure to death, but I do remember when I was really really young being in a hospital waiting room waiting for some unknown reason while, what I found out later, the old lady that lived next door to me was dying. 

Soon after, my Great Grandfather died, and I got my first suit. Then my Great Grandmother died. Then my other Great Grandmother died. Then my other Great Grandfather died. 

Somewhere in between all of these deaths, I played in the cemetery that sat only a few blocks from my house. I remember seeing the light from the Eternal Flame while I sat awake at night trying to decide what growing up would mean for me. 

I’ve had friends die. A good friend died when I moved to Kansas. He was, in fact, the very first friend I had on school. I didn’t know him as well as everyone else did, but I remember crying while I got up to say something about him. 

Then my Grandpa died. Sure, I felt that one. But not in the same way. I wasn’t there. We moved, and I watched my grandmother descend into the madness that eventually will take most old people as their bodies begin to deteriorate. She lost her leg and called her stump Spongebob. In the mean time, I went to two more funerals. A close friend’s Grandfather, and then another friend’s Father. I began joking. 

When my Grandmother actually died, I couldn’t think of anything funny. I literally watched her die in front of me, and I left ten minutes before she actually went. I couldn’t even stick around for those final moments. I sat at the funeral, and I don’t know that I’ve ever been quieter. 

Two more Great Grandmothers died. 

It wasn’t until a class called Death and Grieving that I realized that I’m rather calloused when it comes to death. I laughed and joked my way through the whole class, though most everyone else took it way too seriously. 

My experience has caused me to not feel a lot when I hear someone has died. My crazy grandma and I were very close, but it didn’t hurt like it should have. 

Today though, I felt something. An aching sadness that I didn’t know still sat in my heart. I found out that someone in Colorado died. I didn’t know this person. I have no connection to him whatsoever. In fact, the only thing I actually know about him is his gender and that he died. He was a friend of my dear Sister Fish. 

You see, there are some people who should be too good, too pure, to be touched by this sort of thing. Having someone like that die. Someone you know, someone you interact with in a normal way. Death should not come near a person like my Sister, nor her sisters. It isn’t fair that they would be tainted that way. That they would have to experience something like that. 

Death should be left to people like me. Not-so-goodniks. People who are sadly used to the harsh reality of its presence. 

To his family. His friends. Especially you, Fish. My thoughts, prayers, and tears have been with you since I learned about it.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. 

The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant. “

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