Alcohol. Your liver failed because of alcohol. You’re dead now because of alcohol. You’re dead now because you drank vodka and whiskey and beer and tequila and rum and liquor and brandy and now you’re no longer with us. I don’t have a grandmother anymore because of alcohol. do you know I still miss you? Didn’t you know you’d be hurting everyone if you kept drinking? Didn’t you know it would kill you? Didn’t the doctors tell you it would kill you? I’d love to believe that you couldn’t stop, that you didn’t know what you were doing. But every time I would visit you, you were sober as a Judge. If you were sober when I saw you, couldn’t you be sober all of the time? I’m just so mad at you for not thinking of me when you needed to be sober, couldn’t you just stay sober? As mad as I am about your passing, I still miss you. I wish your liver hadn’t failed, I just want you here with me. I want you back as much as an adult wants to relive their childhood. Even though I hate you for dying, I just want your hugs again. Even though I wish it wasn’t your fault, I finally realize that you knew, and you could’ve stopped and didn’t. Even though your death burns my ass, I always forgive you because of how much I used to love you.  Do I still? Of course I love you, but I don’t love what you did to me or my family. I don’t love how selfish you stayed after you knew what you were doing. I still miss you.