My grandmother died one month before my husband, and we were buying her house from the estate. All friendly, all in the family; we began moving stuff over almost immediately, mostly without even going through it, since we were moving from a small condo to a big house.As it turned out, I moved in by myself, just me and scaryson, then two and a half. I didn't touch any of those boxes -- couldn't bear to. Nearly a year later I needed to renovate the house lest it fall in, so I had to go through all that stuff.It was like walking through a mine field. There was one entire file box full of photos. Open an envelope: BOOM. Uh-oh, there's a shoebox: BOOM. I needn't tell you how it was -- but I have to wonder why you are doing it to yourself deliberately, and so soon after she's gone. Yes, they are wonderful memories, but right now they hurt, badly.Ralph -- they can wait. Your photos, and your memories, aren't going anywhere. You could use some time to heal, first; then, when you come back to it -- then you can think of the happy and not just of the loss. Right now it's time to lick your wounds, not put salt on them.Actually, I shouldn't say that, because it's really none of my business how you choose to grieve. But I would not see you cause yourself more pain than you already bear, simply out of love, and it sounds like that's what you're doing.Normal? Yes. Whose normal? Your normal, and don't let anybody tell you it's not. I mean it, Ralph; not anybody. They don't know. I don't know. Only you know; and you will tell yourself.It's a lovely photo; Sue looks like a very happy woman.scary
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