† SINISTER PUBLICATIONS†

Death — it comes for all of us.
Somehow, that reality slips past our minds on most days, almost as if we’ve agreed not to look directly at it. And yet, every so often, life drops small reminders in our path. A moment of silence. A strange feeling in the chest. News about someone you knew. A memory resurfacing out of nowhere.
Little hints. Quiet taps on the shoulder.

It’s only when you start noticing those hints that they begin to multiply.
Not in a dramatic way — not an obsession — but more like a shadow you finally realized was always behind you. Once seen, it’s hard to unsee. You start acknowledging it more, thinking about it more, recognizing that this whole ride has an endpoint whether we’re ready or not.

But maybe that’s not a bad thing.

Maybe it’s something you accept, but don’t obsess over.
Something you respect, but don’t fear.
A truth you carry lightly, not tightly.

Because in the end, knowing that death is there isn’t meant to crush you —
it’s meant to wake you up.

For me, death has always been there — not in a dramatic way, but as this quiet presence in the background. Almost like an illusion… like a dream caught in the winds of life. You feel it fading, drifting, but never gone.

And then suddenly, it hits.

People around me started dying, and everything changed.
My brother‑in‑law lost his brother and then his mother just days apart — they weren’t even close to me like that, but man… it shook the whole family. It shook me. That kind of loss sends ripples you don’t expect.

And then came my dad.
One week he was a strong old man — stubborn, loud, full of life — and the next, he’s frail, barely talking, fading right in front of me. Watching him slip like that opened up a whole world of nothingness inside my head. A void. A silence that doesn’t feel peaceful… more like floating in deep space with no tether.

When we set him up in hospice… I swear it all felt like a dream.
Like I’m still inside it.
Like I haven’t woken up.

I’ve done shadow work before.
I’ve worked on detachment, on acceptance.
But nothing — nothing — prepares you for this.

I don’t even know if I’m coping or just drifting into some alternate reality that’s passing by without me. I lost two days just zoning in and out. I was still helping, still doing what had to be done… but I wasn’t all there. Not fully.

Yesterday, I finally told myself:
“I need to go to work. Life must go on.”
Because even though it feels like I’m being pulled into a black hole, this can’t be a two‑for‑one loss. I got responsibilities. I got people depending on me. I got myself to hold together.

And the weirdest part?
The women in my family — strong as hell. Stoic. Holding it together like they’ve done this dance a thousand times. I know they’re hurting, I know they’re hiding it… but damn, vato. When I closed my door, I broke. I cried hard. Harder than I ever expected.

And out of all that came this:

I knew the day could come
But I could never prepare
The lights are dimming out
I knock and no one’s there
For time is just but a dream
A misty world fleeting
Shadows in my head
A broken heart that’s bleeding