For those of you who find this nostalgic journey depressing, I am sorry. We are our experiences. At 42, I have had some sad ones and many happy ones. They make me who I am and that is what a diary is about. So back to 1993.

After someone significant dies there seems to be a disjoint. At least there was for me. It's not like you can't live without them...obviously you can and do. But for me it was like slipping into a parallel dimension. I could see the real world but it was spinning by at a much faster pace. I can remember riding in the car with Les and coming to the top of an interstate exit ramp. I watched the traffic as we waited for the light and started crying softly. I told him that no-one cares; they just go on with their lives. I remember saying, "If they would slow down, I could get back on." It was like trying to hop onto a moving merry-go-round. It was hard for both of us. He could reach out a hand but I could not get to it yet.

It took months. Months of going through life out of sync and faking it. We helped Mom prep the second house for sale and file probate. I worked and used most of my energy to maintain that job. There is little room for your pain when you are caring for others'. I came home spent.

Before I knew it, the holidays were here. I really did not care. I think that is what finally alarmed Les. I used to do Christmas planning from the summer onward. We had two trees,Advent wreaths and nativities. That year it was December 23 and we had nothing. When he asked I would say, "Let's go tomorrow." Finally, Les had a fit and put his foot down. "You have two children," he said "and we are GOING to have Christmas AND a Christmas tree." So off we went, I remember wandering through the leftover trees. You know, the Charlie Brown ones, with the girls all excited.

Of course, looking back I was depressed but you can't see it when you are there. Les knew and had been seeking help to help me. I started crawling out. I went back to counselling like I had the winter before to prepare for my Mother's death. For some reason when that final illness came in June 1994, it was easier. Maybe I was still numb. Maybe it was because she had been the "sick one" for years, maybe because I knew she was so very depressed and missed Dad.

Tomorrow, Mom's story.