I feel like saying fuck it and throwing in the towel. I told my psychologist this. I told her that I am happiest when I’ve decided that I’m not going to stay for the long haul, because, even though I havnt an end date in mind, I can see an end to it. Living in this emotional hell, is hell.

She said this is good. Which of course sounds bizarre. But she said when I have those good days, it makes healing easier: it’s easier to heal when you feel some happiness. But am I healing? Will I heal? I have lost so much. I’ve lost my son. I’ve lost my family. I feel like a burden to them now.

I become overwhelmed when I think that I could possibly live another 10, 20, 30 or more years with this pain. I try not to think of long term. I think as far as next week : I book my physio, dental and psych appointments and I don’t want to think beyond that.

But Randy and I are putting an offer in on a house tomorrow. This house isn’t my safe haven anymore: when I wake up in my bed and the sun shines through the window it brings back that phone call: that moment I knew he was gone. Most nights I just sleep in my guest room. Sam visited me in this house shortly after I moved here. I have memories of him here. I feel his spirit here, but I just don’t think I can stay. So here’s to hoping a new house is in the near future.