It's all very, very sad.  I finally ousted PIC, and I was okay, I really was.  I felt really, really good.

Then I arrived home and Ian burst past me, not saying anything.  So I followed him to his room.

He was crying, very quietly.  I have not seen my grown child cry since he was maybe 6 or 7.

It's difficult for people who have not been here to understand.  I don't care how much of a dickhead PIC has been to me or the children; he is still their father and they love him.  Not just in an abstract kind of way, but they love him.

Ian doesn't want to talk about it, but he did ask me how and when my father's father died.  I guess that's the connection that he's making, that's it's kind of a death, and that's how he's going to grieve for it.

Jamie was just kind of quiet and shuffled and sniffled all night.

By 10 pm, everyone was in bed and asleep.  It was a very quiet house both tonight and this morning.

Bleah.