Either I'm handling Mama's death very well, or I am in complete denial, and the ton of bricks has yet to fall.

I sort of have to keep reminding myself that she's gone, you know?  I look at the first sentence of that last entry, and it's like that isn't happening to me.  I've cried, it isn't that.  But there's a composure that seems out of place.  I'm parentless now.  It's just me.

If I begin to think too far ahead, my head spins.  One little chore, one little step at a time, I keep telling myself.  Nothing can be done at all until I receive the death certificates, so staying still seems to be all I can do right now.

People keep telling me to get a lawyer, or an accountant.  I don't know anyone up there.  It makes my head hurt trying to pull it all together.  Since I'm the only child, shouldn't it be fairly straightforward and easy?  Haven't people with less intelligence than me managed estates successfully before?

I am giving myself the early Christmas present of calling off any more gift knitting.  What's done for the etsy shop is done, unless I'm truly in the mood to make something for there.  The sweater I was trying to get done for Briton was going painfully (in the literal sense;  tough yarn), so it got ripped out this afternoon.  And I could feel the load lighten.  Yes, I'm upset that I won't have it to give him, but I'm more relieved that there are no more deadlines looming over me.