I have been relieved to be home. Back at work, back to appointments (we had a lot of Pea appointments to catch up on this week), back to the familiar farmer's markets, back to our bed. But being here also allows me the indulgence of denial. I'm not going through Mom's clothes or jewelry. I'm not helping clean out the drawers, finding old photos, old letters, old mementos. I plan to help with some of it when I go back this winter, but I don't honestly know how realistic that will be. How much help I could possibly be to Dad with a newborn to attend to...or how much will be left to do when I am finally able to come. I'm not sure what I'll find when I am there next. I don't know what it's like to live every day in their house, surrounded by ghosts.