As I write this, my brother in law's funeral is underway, approximately fifteen thousand kilometres away.
I'm sure that somewhere within me exists the appropriate words to describe this anger and sadness and feelings of injustice, but right now I can't find them. All I know is that the three people I love most in the world have lost their father, and I can't even fathom it. They are barely old enough to understand what a father is, let alone to face their lives without one. A thousand scenarios of their lives run through my head of moments 15, 20, 30 years from now at which his presence will still be missed, and I wish that I could make it better for them, that somehow I could take it all away and process it all for them and give them back the happy memories but I can't and that is why I cry. If I could take their small selves and hold them in my arms and tell them it would all be ok then I would feel better but this is so far from being about me its inconceivable and I would be lying anyway because its not ok they are burying their father.
The fact that they have to deal with sadness on this level at this age pains me like nothing I have known before and I can't compute it because all I see are their lovely little faces.

If the religions are right about God having a master plan about everything that happens we are all so desperately fucked, because this makes no sense by any standard.

Yes I am fucked off and yes I may well delete this tomorrow.