Last night Daughter and I watched a show, and then I remembered we needed to get the recycling out. We worked together on getting it out to the curb, and she began to cry. I asked her what was wrong, and she talked about how it wasn't right that Grandma and Grandpa aren't here to see our new home. I agreed with her, and then I began to cry. I reminded her that it was their money that enabled us to buy our home. I told her I was sure they were proud and happy for us. She was very apologetic about making me cry. She was also very concerned for me.
I do miss them. September 29 was the first anniversary of Dad's death. It was the day the movers arrived with all of our belongings. I know they would be so excited to have us back in the same state. I know they would love our new house. Mom would fuss over decorating and organizing the kitchen. Dad would have more practical suggestions. He would have wanted to know all the details of the inspection and mortgage process. He would think we needed more light in the house, and would be suggesting where to put lamps and such.
Daughter went to bed, apologizing for making me cry and giving me lots of hugs and telling me I needed to go to bed and get a good night's sleep. She's right. I was weepy the rest of the evening, and stayed up much longer than I should. I guess I was due for another round of grief. It's part of the healing process.