Grief is such a weird thing

Grief is such a weird thing. It's such a weird and ugly thing. And I'm in a good mood, but I cannot stop thinking about my dead sister and all the morbid shit that goes with it. Like, I cannot believe they burnt my sister to ashes, ground up the bones and then handed it to me. And my mom was like, do you want to go see that person? I was like, fuck no. The last time I saw my sister's eyes, they were in her fucking head. And then now I have that urn sitting in my fucking closet. Or the fact that her eyes were ripped out of her fucking head and put in someone else's because she was an organ donor. And my mom was like, do you want to go see that person? I was like, fuck no. The last time I saw my sister's eyes, they were in her fucking skull. Thank you very much. I do not want to see that fucking thing. Or like, oh my god, the thing that I think about is like when I got to see the car that she was in the accident in. And it wasn't an accident, she did it herself. But like, how did you fucking die? Like the whole car was smooshed to fucking shit except for where she was sitting. It was just like this perfect, like, dome around her. Almost killed her. The fucking airbag. Blunt force trauma to the fucking head. And I was like, oh my god, bitch, my fucking luck. It feels like grieving. It literally feels like just your fucking luck. And it's like, you can be having a totally fine normal fucking day. And then there's just all these thoughts come racing. Like, why? Why is she dead? But then I'm like, she chose that. I don't know. It's ugly.