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Chris LaCourciere

So it’s been 3.5 weeks of hard, manual labor and even though I’ve been busting my butt every single day, in 90+ degree temps, I still don’t look anything like how he advertised it. In fact, I don’t even have a budding two pack for my efforts I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I eat my feelings and try and keep myself too busy to really think about why I’m having to do what I have to do which leaves little time for anything else other than eating away the brave feelings that try to find their way out. They can wait, this can’t. I know it does not look like much but HUGE progress has been made (on the house). If you look closely, mostly everything is off the porch other than one of the giant, 1000 pound wood beams that my brother has standing around in random places Today was a good pressure washing and giving the windows a good deep clean. The painters/carpet/repair guys come this week and the inside is ready. All that’s left is the backyard and all that “stuff” I did manage to get the storage area I affectionately refer to as “the kill room” mostly cleaned out and considering you couldn’t even step inside I’m counting it as a win. And yes, I can hear Chris laughing at me while complaining and trying to make light of the situation because it’s the only way I know how to keep myself going at this point. I love him and I miss him deeply. I pissed off he’s making me do this alone and laughing at me when I jump 4 feet when I think the hose is a snake or how much we’d laugh at all the giant spiders that would give @decemberbowles a heart attack. I’m pissed that he chose to take his last breaths on the beach and it both creeps me out to think of it as a vacation spot and oddly pulls me there to be close to him.