I spent years preparing for my brother’s death, but it did nothing when it actually happened.

I had about a week between my dad being placed in ICU and his death. I saw it coming and I tried to get my mind into a place that would somehow hopefully cushion the impact when his final moment would be there and you know what, it didn’t do shit.

A few minutes ago I fell apart when I cut a breakfast sandwich because that’s what he used to to for me when I was, maybe fourteen. It was one of the things he tried to do to make things easier for me. I can’t fucking cut sandwiches without crying right now. It’s all just fucking shit.