It's hard to get into the writing swing again. Every time I've sat down to put a few thoughts to paper, I've found myself asking "What's the point?" Julia's loss makes me question where the adoption work should really be taking place, and most of all if the debate and ugliness that goes along with it is for a purpose. The answer to that last one is coming back "no."
I've also found myself clinging to my family this week. Perhaps it's human nature to do that when someone passes away, to retreat to the loved and familiar. I'd better snap out of it, though, because I've given The Girl so many no-reason hugs this week that she's starting to look at me the way the cat does when I come at him with his medicine. The Boy is probably glad he's had the work week from hell, because he's missed the smothering.
When my thoughts haven't been with Julia and those close to her, they've been with my kids. Sometimes the way I feel about them, this sort of uncontrollable crazy-in-love thing, is really overwhelming - no doubt more for them than for me. I do need to snap out of it, as work is suffering, but it's hard.
All week, little fragments of memories have been flying through my head, no doubt because I've found myself in the photo albums again, too. Sometimes they bring back an entire event, but more often or not they stand like little gems, bits of who my children are that I hope I never, ever lose.
This has been the stuff of my week, this and sadness.