I am writing this now to get my thoughts into order.

At about six o'clock this afternoon I was faced with the news.

She was always trouble, but trying to find good.

Only problem was, good was lost, and the trouble found her.

Now I barely knew her. And what I did know, I resented.

But now, I cannot help but feel demented.

My grandfather, he has always treated me like a son.

And she was this man's daughter.

I always called him "Dad" or "Father".

You see, he was always there for me.

I never knew my real father, he disappeared entirely.

Now she, she had me, but couldn't take care of me.

He took me in when no one else would.

And he truly is the best dad you ever could have.

She tried and she tried, and she failed and she failed.

She was doing so well, but then it was all taken away.

And just a few days ago, it was her forty-first birthday.

April eighth.

My dad sat me down today,

April eleventh,

And told me what happened.

I did not know how to react.

I asked "How?" and "What?", but the "Why?" never came.

I suppose in the end, it is all the same.

I know it was not my fault, but I was always disappointed.

So when the day finally came, I felt conflicted.

I sat there in deep thought.

Searching for a response.

To this moment, I do not know if I properly found one.

I felt empathy. Not for her or for me, but for those affected by it.

My half-sister, her father, my father. But me?

I cannot decide.

I felt a cry swell up, but I knew not why it did.

We did not talk, I did not visit, but I suppose I felt bad.

She's up in the sky, now. Looking down upon me.

I look up to her, and then my lips quiver.

I'm sorry.

You tried your best, and I felt I wasn't satisfied.

So I pushed you away.

Until the day that you died.

I'm sorry.