Yesterday was three months since Mr Trifectagirl passed away. The day itself was ok - if you count the aftermath of being up all night with a vomity toddler and changing cot sheets every 3 hours overnight as ok.
It was the day before that I struggled with. We overslept. The entire house. Including the cat. That should have been the first clue that it wasn't going to be a great day. With the late start, I opted to take a 'me' day from work while J was at child care. There were a few rough periods during the day, generally when I was alone with my thoughts while driving or making dinner, rather than trying to get other stuff done or chatting to people.
Monday will be six months since his birthday. Six months since he got sick.
I miss him and this plain sucks.