My father died early this morning, 12:25 am, to be exact. I’ve shed some tears, walked around home not knowing what to do with myself and not wanting to talk to another human being. That last one did not happen. I can’t count how many times, how many hours, I spent on the phone today. I’m tired. I’m sad. But mainly, I’m angry and scared. I’m so mad, I want to yell “F*ck you, muscular dystrophy!” You. . . you keep taking away the men in my life. You. . . you took years and memories away from me with my grandfather, my uncle and now my father. I hate you. And you scare me because I know soon, you will come for me.