Trouble is . . .

Trouble is, I haven't been able to deal with your death because you gave me too much time to prepare for it.

Trouble is, it felt like you died so many times I'd begun to think you never would. And I called your number a few times after you died, holding my breath.

Trouble is, I miss you so much, some ways even more than I miss Dad, and I know this would surprise you because it also surprises me - and it's one of my biggest regrets.

Trouble is, even though you broke my heart endless times and the thought of spending one more night at your bedside probably would've made me insane, I still would have been there.

And the real trouble is, the one time I tried to think of myself first and didn't rush over to get you to the hospital when I heard it in your voice, you died. The one time.

Trouble is.