Why do bad things happen to good people?

As i watched him die i found it hard to remember how he'd lived. I found it hard to think of the twenty years i'd known him as my favourite uncle and thought only of the year he'd been a cancer patient. I could barely recognise him, so swollen because of the steroids, so drugged up he was barely even him. I could have sat at the bedside all night and all day but apparently life went on. I was supposed to continue on as if nothing was happening, as if every second i didn't feel him ebbing slowly away. I thought about him every one of those seconds, even when i pretended i wasn't. I could hardly drag myself out of bed every day that week. I had to be so far away but couldn't concentrate on anything. Nothing was as important as this. I couldn't stay away even though the others didn't think it was good for me to be there. I said goodbye each time i left just incase he wasn't there when i came back the next day.

How do you describe death? I watched it slowly take over your body. Watched how you struggled against it. You tried to fight, i know you did, i watched you. But life's just not fair. Why do bad things happen to good people? I don't understand. I try and convince myself it's because you were needed, for a higher purpose. God had a big plan and only you could achieve it. But why would God take away the father of a seven year old? How could He?

I tried to be so strong, they said you'd be proud of me. I was strong with everyone but when i was all alone in my room i couldn't stop the tears. I could be strong for my dad, my brother, my nan, my aunty and the children but when no one was around i didn't feel strong. I hate funerals. They are shit. As soon as we arrived at the crematorium everyone was crying, sobbing and emotional. I had to stay strong for now. I turned away as i saw the people i love break down. Looking at them, all i wanted to do was cry. But i couldn't yet. I had to read my poem, a tribute to you and i knew if i broke down before it i'd never be able to do it. You were so special, i wanted to do it for you. I wanted everyone to know how much i loved you, how much i miss you and how you were one of my favourite people in this world. That was the hardest thing i've ever had to do. I'd never recommend it. I'd learnt how to detach myself so through the introduction, the hymn and the eulogy i held it all in. I watched my cousins, who i couldn't adore more, in floods of tears but i held it in. I read my poem. I read it to you and to everyone that loved you. You are gone, but why does it not quite feel real? Why do i still expect to look up from christmas dinner and see you pulling silly faces at me or teasing me about how much i'd had to drink the night before? Everyone said i read the poem beautifully. Aunty said she thought it's what was supposed to happen, what you would have wanted. You'd have loved to hear me read it and been so proud.

Sometimes like now, at five o'clock in the morning when i can't sleep my grief feels infinite. I try not to sob too loud, my tears are my own and i don't want to share them with anybody. I just can't stop them, i just can't sleep.