There’s probably nothing worse than outliving your children.  Burying your children has to be the hardest thing a human has to face.  Second to that, imagine coming home to your dead wife, and dead dogs, who died from carbon monoxide poisoning.  How do you laugh again?  Honestly, how do you have the strength to move on?  It’s your life, coming home to the safest place you’ve ever know, and it becomes a source of grief.  Your home, all sense of it, escapes you, and you feel lost in the world.  Can you imagine coming home to the love of your life, lifeless in your home, on your carpet, with your dead animals?  How do you ever sleep again.  You grieve, and any joy you’ve ever felt escapes you.  You don’t know from joy anymore.  I don’t know how you go on from there, but people do.  We bury loved ones, and we go on.  And people call you strong, but you don’t feel strong.  "You’re so incredibly Strong" doesn’t resonate.  You’ve heard it before, so you know they’re talking about you.  But otherwise, you know it’s not strength.  You just try to get by every day, and hope time will heal your pain, or numb it. And time does heal grief.  I can’t imagine losing the people I love, despite knowing it will happen one day.  I will just love them every second I can. 

I’m thankful for Linus’ health, for my family, friends, and my own health.  We’re all okay today.  I came home last night to Oprah on TV.  I leave the television on for Linus while I’m out.  It makes me feel like I’m leaving him with company.  Then I was ready to blog about rude text messaging practices, when I came home to Oprah.  I fell asleep with Linus in my arms.