I think I can speak confidently on behalf of me, Stace, and mom when I say that our grief is taking the form of a serious shopping addiction.
Two months, three pairs of shoes. Countless shirts. I have a whole new wardrobe. I don't think it's making me feel that much better (although, my oxfords are glorious). If anything, I feel great for two seconds before I remember that I'm becoming progressively poorer. And then I say screw it and go shopping again.
Dad was a very sensible shopper. I use "shopper" lightly. Really, he would only buy clothes when mom dragged him out and forced him. I wish I inherited this trait. Then again, his shoes were always awful-looking.
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