There is no one here.
I don't know how to do this alone, and there is no one here. James spends three hours a day commuting on top of a full workday, and he comes home and has maybe an hour to spend with the kids and I and then he has to go to sleep or he can't get up in time to function to be safe riding his bike before dawn and after dusk to get there and home again.
Which means its just me.
...and now I can't stomach the thought of using the third room. How do I take back that space that we built for my mother who is gone, and never coming back.
How do I grieve for her when being kind to myself means not doing the dishes after every damn meal and still pick up every toy the kids drag out, but after two days the mess is so horrid I can't think and I'm sure that if anyone came in they would have me committed and take away my children...
There is no one here who is mourning. Outside of these apartment walls, no one notices a difference. It is so weird to go through your day to day in a place where no one you encounter will be sharing your grief. I have seen one friend, once, since my mother died, almost a week ago,