We buried my son last week. It was a good day - all about him, lots of friends, family and people who cared about him (some paid, some not - all cared). It rained hard, but he liked the rain - we'd take him for walks in it because he enjoyed it as long as he was well wrapped up and warm. So he had the last laugh at us being drenched - it would have amused him. And afterwards everyone went to the hall to see his photos and talk. And it wasn't miserable or depressing, even if we did cry.
We've cried more since - because we miss him, but he's resting now. No more reflux, no more fits, no more pain. And there were lots of good times. One mother said he'd packed more into his few years than her own son the same age, and even more than she had. It's never been about the quantity of life - it's the quality that mattered for him.
So we try to get back to 'normal' life. But that isn't happening yet. We've sorted his bank accounts out (what little there was), paid the bills, cancelled the benefits, notified the treasury, sent back his wheelchairs and a lot of other practicals - and this will go on for some time. There's another van load of equipment to go back next week, a track hoist to be removed, a mountain of clothes to be given away (some specialist for wheelchairs - many barely worn).
Some stuff can go to International Aid and the Women's Refuge but we'd hate to see his things just thrown away when they're in good condition. So we're finding homes for as much of the good stuff as we can.
I know it's early days yet and we will get things together eventually. Still in the 'busy' phase, see what happens later.