Last night wasn’t quite as hard at Mom’s (I have to catch myself from saying Mom and Dad’s like I would normally). My sisters cleaned Dad’s bedroom and put his things away so everything in the room doesn’t make me remember this week. They aired out the room, burned a candle to make it smell good, and somehow that helped. Mom still finds herself anxiously peeking into the bedroom each time she walks by as she’s done for weeks now, to make sure Dad was still breathing. It’s been a long, long road. We all felt the end coming, hated to face it, but never dreamed it would be like this. Today I will take my sister to the airport so she can get back home to Florida, and we will try to turn our lives back into some sort of normal pace again. Has it only been a week? It feels like months, long dark months. I still cry when anyone touches my shoulder or asks me how I’m doing. Just can’t help it. But I know I’ll get better. I wrote obituary notices for Dad and sent them out, and printed a bunch for Mom to have. Sure makes my heart ache to see his sweet face in the photo again. We all loved him beyond measure. It doesn’t feel quite real, and yet it does. Does that make sense? Does ANYTHING?