It’s been eight days since my father was killed.
Today was a bad day. Worse than yesterday. I think because it was a worse day for my mom.
I’m still here at their – her – house. The memorial is tomorrow. People are still bringing us food, so tracking things is difficult, but I’m trying to guesstimate things; the asterisk on calories is because I had some tortilla chips but didn’t measure. Doing things much other than waking up in the morning is difficult.
One day at a time. And just keep going, one day at a time.
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