I am 100% overwhelmed by grief. And loss. And more grief. And more loss.

I have reached my breaking point. I thought I was turning a corner when it came to postpartum depression. I was beginning to see that light at the end of the tunnel. And then with my grandfather’s death, the light just disappeared. I don’t know if it is solely that grief, mixed grief or if I’m just not as far along my road out of PPD as I thought or what… but I’m at a point where I can’t see past the end of my own nose.

But I’ll push on, I suppose. Don’t I always? Aren’t I always the strong one? Isn’t everyone always so proud of me for how I am able to pull myself up by the proverbial bootstraps, raise my chin and force myself to walk forward? I’d just like to sleep for awhile. Uninterrupted. Cry for awhile. Uninterrupted. And hear some words of solace. Some words of hope. Some words of apology. Some words of love. I’d like to be tended to for once instead of doing all the tending.

This seems highly unlikely.

And so, back to pulling up these bootstraps. One foot in front of the other.

My grandfather passed away on Monday.

On Tuesday, the sewer backed up into our basement.

Finally, today, I was able to collapse in bed and just let it all out. We’re leaving for The Farm tomorrow for the viewing. The funeral will be Friday. I’m feeling overwhelmed. Under-prepared. Emotionally devastated. And all of those things mashed together usually leave me revisiting old/other grief.

I never thought, at the time of relinquishment, that the grief of losing my daughter would exacerbate every other grief in my life. Well, I didn’t think about life-long grief at that point. I thought it would get better. I didn’t have an inkling of understanding as to how placement would root itself into every aspect of my life. It doesn’t run my life but it is just always there; it’s just always there.

I don’t deal well with funerals. I’m not looking forward to the next 48 hours. I am thankful for a husband to stand by my side, figuratively and literally.