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I know it's early, as my son Matthew has only been gone for 4 months now, but my weekend shocked me with bursts of grief that I wasn't expecting and it has hit me like a tsunami. First, it was just us, sitting in the cracker barrel eating breakfast. I didn't even notice the tears flowing as I sat and watched a little family of 4 eating together just a few tables away. The next thing you know I'm a total wreck. The next day I'm cleaning out the garage and run into two crates of Halloween costumes. I don't bother going through them, as I know what kind of fun memories are in there, and I don't want to deal with those right now. I want to get the garage clean. But just moments after those 2 crates leave my hands and are now in the hands of the folks at Goodwill - wham - I'm stuck in the parking lot with my best friend, both of us crying. I didn't dare try to go to mass after these two episodes. I know, I know, it's normal, it's expected, and it's ok. But I feel like such a basket case after these two episodes. This is my life now. My life sentence of grief bursts and heartbreaks that just keep coming back in waves. The waves were too big this weekend. I can handle the smaller ones better now, now that the calendar has flipped a few times. Progress, I guess. But progress towards what?