There is just so much emotion in this poem I can’t even begin to do it any good at complimenting it. I’m assuming this poem is true—if it isn’t, then, damn, can you conjure up emotion. I’ve had three people close to me die in my life—none of them family, though. All were sudden and tragic, but none so tragic as this.
I feel as though this will be the poem that I will forever wish that I had written. This and The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.

My little sister had her birthday stolen from her that day, she felt guilty for waking up happy and celebrating that day, her 16th birthday. She doesn’t celebrate it anymore and won’t tell any new people in her life her birth date. She told me one day it was like her new last name was Bin Laden.

Great poem, this comment speaks for the previous three too.