Woke up about 2:30, in a state of agonal devastation. Owen was howling, and had scooted himself to a dangerous position in bed. It took me forever to get his bottle ready, because I could barely move. Even after he ate, he had a hard time sleeping, and even after I got some pain medication, my pain didn’t really decrease. (still hasn’t, three hours later)
Then my mum called an hour or so after Owen finally gave in to sleep. My grandmother passed away, around 5:00.
Along with the pain, I was really depressed and weepy. Just kept on repeating, “I need something, and I don’t know what it is.” I just felt wrong. Lost. I still do. Maybe that’s what it is.