This will be brief, because I am utterly, totally exhausted. This third significant death in six weeks is more difficult than I thought it would be.

It's that it's piled on top of the other two, I know. But right now I'm white-hot angry. I am angry at the concepts of illness and death. And at the separation death brings.

I am angry about the holes in my life.

I'm angry about the holes in the lives of the other people grieving.

I hate having to grieve. I hate having so much to grieve about.

I hate that the rest of the world is going on about its business while I'm hurting so much. (Thanks, I am well aware that's irrational; no need to remind me that life goes on.)

I hatehatehate feeling so damned helpless.