The final goodbye, or… let me check that Gym.

For months, I felt bad that the predominant feeling that I felt upon realization that my mother had passed was… relief. I didn’t have to worry about keeping Bub away from her any more, or what she would say next. All of that was gone. After awhile, I didn’t have to pretend to be sad that she was gone, because the people that were concerned about “why I wasn’t sad (enough) that she had passed” eventually stopped asking why I… wasn’t sad “enough” that she had passed. Some people say that when someone close to you dies, it leaves a hole in your heart that “can’t be filled”, but in a really peculiar twist, it was like her behavior toward my child caused there to be a hole in my heart that her passing completely ameliorated, because I literally did not have to worry what was waiting for me around the corner next, what she was going to say about my child to me next as I was performing whatever act of caregiving that she needed, all of that was just gone. And for months, I felt bad about it. I felt like something was wrong with me because I was relieved that I didn’t have to worry about any of this any more. It was finally when friends of mine began to repeatedly tell me that my emotions regarding this complex situation were completely normal and that I was not a “bad person”, that there “wasn’t something mentally wrong with me” that it finally… eventually began to sink in.

And then, months later, I began to feel bad again. Googling various… coping mechanisms regarding the death of someone that you were supposed to be close to, all of the websites out there talked about how you were supposed to forgive someone before — or even after — their death, even if they had done something really bad. I didn’t find any that talked about not being able to forgive that person. Finally being able to admit to myself that I would just never be able to have any positive feelings about her again, and having friends of mine tell me that was okay, brought me immeasurable peace. It was like finally being able to say that in spaces with my friends, and being validated by them as that being an acceptable response given the circumstances, finally allowed me to begin to do some healing that I had put off for… wait for it, months, heh.

At the behest of certain people, I did go to her viewing before she was cremated.

But it wasn’t for me.

I was “given time to mourn”, at which point I literally realized that there was a complete disconnect between me and this person laying before me, and that all that connected us were genetics. I used Pokémon GO to make sure that I spent “enough time in there” (yes, given the circumstances, I actually did that), and my last words to her for what she did to my child were actually “fuck you, bitch” before I left the room. Bub’s reaction to her, upon sight of her, was actually to scream at her and try to hit her, which got written off as “oh, he’s severely autistic,” but I knew better. He’s had meltdowns before, and many have been severe, but I mean… he’s never screamed at my face at the top of his lungs and come at my face with his hands, so… whatever.

Ironically, it seemed almost cathartic for him to do that. He did better once he got that out of his system, although he was escorted from the room after that point. I didn’t want him to become significantly stressed.

But she literally chose to die not apologizing to my child at all for how she chose to treat him. Just him.

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