This is kind of a vent journal.

I'm at my mother's estate sale, and it's been going well. While I was in the garage, it kind of occurred to me that this is pretty much the last time I'm going to be in the house I've grown up in, and this will be the last time I see most of the things we had in our home.

I thought I was kind of over this, but I guess not. I'm kind of a mess right now. Dad tells me this whole thing has been kind of cathartic for him, but I just don't share that sentiment. Being here triggers some kind of strange ptsd, I think. I keep remembering the sleepless nights caring for her, and the smell of bleach and ammonia everywhere, and all the blood.

I don't know. I'll probably delete this later, I just needed to vent.