Added to the list of Things I Never Thought I Would Have to Say: “I need you to pick up our daughter’s ashes at the funeral home.  I did it last time.”

Back to therapy today, and it is rough.  At home, plodding through the day, I am still encompassed by numbness, but in therapy everything crumbles and I spend the better part of the hour sobbing.  I ended up going three times last week, twice this week and likely twice next week as well.  I come home lightheaded and a bit dazed.  Upon arriving home today, I was greeted by several items sent to me by friends.  It made me smile, and reminded me that however alone I may feel at times, that I am not alone and many loving people surround and support us.

In a flurry today, I tackled the boys’ bedroom before therapy and ended up clearing out three full garbage bags of scribbled drawings, broken toys, and other random crap.  Then I was exhausted by the effort.  Though it did prove to be a useful distraction for a few hours.

I find myself simultaneously compelled and paralyzed by the thought of writing.  Compelled to write in order to release my thoughts.  Terrified of looking into my own thoughts, and fearful of someday re-reading what I have written and how it might re-ignite all of that pain.  Even though I know this is not true, I feel like all of this grief has physically manifested itself on my family.  I feel ill.  Ger feels ill.  Last week, Quentin was sick and now Theo has been fighting a low-grade fever for a few days.  Their illnesses have just added to the burden of what we are dealing with.