My cousin Juan Manuel, who was supposed to be born on my 30th birthday (this coming January 13), was born early, on January 4. He was born with Down Syndrome, which no one had known he had until the moment of birth. He died just one day later, of pulmonary complications, and he had all kinds of tubes and oxygen devices hooked up to him.
We buried him on January 6, in a coffin that was the size of a violin case. My aunt wailed through the entire funeral, and it broke my heart to see how much emptier funerals are when people don't believe in God and afterlife - and in God wiping away our tears.
That very night, Julia found out that her baby brother had died, and she cried just like her mom had earlier that day. I've never experienced something so painful. But everyone tried so hard to cheer her up, and my dad finally did it, by playing soccer with her, which I thought was so sacrificial of him, since I know that he was really, really hurting.
I don't know what else to say. Life just hurts so much right now.