On Friday it was 14 years since my estranged mother died.
I keep mentally prodding myself, as though there’s something I should be feeling. But I don’t. Feel anything that is.
We had been estranged for some 14 years before that, so I don’t know why I’m expecting this ‘something’.
I tolerated a lot of misery for the sake of others, but once my child was born I couldn’t bear to think of them being contaminated by any of it. So that was that.
I think I gained more than I lost. Though at times I still long for a(n unrealistic) family life. 🤷🏻♀️ Then I get annoyed with myself for wasting time thinking/wanting what I haven’t had instead of appreciating and making the best of what I do have.