Mornings remain the worst part of this situation. It's when I wake up from a peaceful respite that I suddenly remember what's going on, what's on the horizon, and I don't yet have rationalizations preventing the raw spin of disbelief and upset. It's when I just wonder "what if", "how will she….", "how will they…", along with, of course, "how could I have ….". There are only a few days left before she returns home, and there is so much uncertainty ahead. I don't know if she'll ever be 'herself' again. I don't know how much help and support she will need or receive, or how difficult it might become. A lot of what I've read implies this gets bad. I'm also torn by my role in this. I care deeply and want to be there as much as possible but I assume a great deal in that. I assume a fantasy world of acceptance and forgiveness and understanding and gratitude and simple genuine humanity and connection. I don't know that is or was ever possible. I know I don't want to be removed from this, denied the opportunity to show my empathy, compassion, and caring for somebody that I spent so much significant time with. It seems at times that the only way to stay sane requires isolating my core feelings and taking a 'matter of fact' approach to things. That is a hard balance to maintain. Her bedroom furniture was returned yesterday. Lauren and I picked up the closet doors last night while Tommy was (surprisingly) at a scouts meeting. We're going to the house today, in advance of her sister coming tonight. Our plan today is to clear clothes, clutter, hang closets, and clean. The "CL…" list of tasks. I'll probably take 1/2 day at work.