It's futile to shake my fist at the sky, but I feel better when I do

I'm mad at the universe. No, not mad. Seething. Enraged.
I do not pretend to understand the machinations of the world, nor to have the perspective to see my role as but a cog in this existence, but it all seems so brutally unfair.
First, I watched my mom die. A giant personality of a woman, reduced to a pale shadow, raspy-breathed and unseeing, before she took one last breath and slipped away. Too soon.
She made this world greater. It is less without her.
Death is part of life, I know, but to have THIS happen to my family just two weeks later? Unforgivable.
Michael was a good man, a caring man, who - like my mom - spent his life helping kids. He helped children, for christ's sake. And his fate, his lot in life, was to be murdered, have his head chopped off, and to be torched in his truck.
I don't believe in God, but if there is one, and he can hear me, I have two words to say: fuck you.