I’m mourning the loss of life.

Mourning the end of my story.

Reliving the pain it brought and letting it go.

With an abuser – when he died it brought everything right back up like it had happened yesterday.

I had to go through it all again – processing every bit that had happened – while mourning the loss of life, I was now also mourning the loss of a part of my life – my story.

“River Street” – has died. I mourn for it, for the loss of a significant part of my life, while also processing all that it meant to me, good & bad.

I need to put those things in their rightful places, say my final goodbyes and move on.

Mourning.

Anger.

Angry for what he had done to me. Now he was gone and was free of it, but I still had to live with it.

“Act like” it never happened – but, it did, and it was wrong, and while you are “free” of it, I have had to suffer for years. Now you are becoming dead to me, I need you to die/to be dead to me, I am angry because you take a piece of my story with you- an ugly piece that is your fault and you should have no right to take with you and act like it’s all okay, and move on – you should suffer too.

But, you can’t now/you won’t.

That’s not fair.

Look at what you’ve done to me. How can you get away with this? This is why I resent your sick, smiling, successful faces. You make me want to puke.

But, I miss you.

I wish I still had the intimacy I had with you – the excitement – the heart racing, swooning feelings – the sense of importance – the sense of doing something, being someone, that matters – making a difference. The heat of the moment – the fire/heat of life/living.

Mourning.

Anger.

Loss.

Resentment.

Letting go.