I was 13 years old, 22 March 1988. I stood there, watching my dad hold his chest, hearing the sound of pain leave his body before his body left him. Fatal heart attack. Within seconds, he was gone and I was standing alone. Today marks 38 years since that moment. It still stings like a bee by here’s what I’ve learned… Grief doesn’t live in your memory. It lives in your body. Today, I didn’t remember the date, my calendar didn’t remind me, my mind didn’t prepare me. But my body just knew. Somethin

Logan Paul In The Japanese Suicide Forest