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Several weeks ago, my dad called me and asked me to clean out my mom’s clothes. I didn’t. So he started calling regularly… telling me that the “knowledge” that her clothes were still hanging in her closet was holding him back, and he NEEDS Jennifer & me to move them. He finally gave me a deadline — this Saturday, Jun 6th. He said that if we didn’t move them, he would. With visions of him pitching my beloved mother’s clothes into a dumpster, I *very* reluctantly agreed.

I feel sick every time I think about it. My stomach turns, and I suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to sleep for days or eat chocolate until I puke or both. I’ve only opened her closet twice since she died… when you open the louvered doors, the smell of her comes wafting out and fills the air, and the missing is so sharp that it physically punches.

I guess I’ll just try to put my mind in neutral as much as possible. I don’t really know if that’s possible, but I don’t know what else to do. And I’ve been known to use alcohol or medication (love Ativan) to take the edge off, but because I still don’t know the pregnancy verdict, that isn’t an option.

So Friday, Jun 5th is the day. Jen’s had fairly severe pregnancy-related nausea, vomiting, & headaches lately, so I’m already telling myself that I can do this by myself just in case she can’t go.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

Fuck.

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