I read something last night on grief and realized in a way I’ve been grieving. Not that I loved my exhusband any longer when he died, because I didn’t. Not after what he had done to the boys and I. I grieved after he died. But for something entirely different, my freedom.
I’ve accepted it now but I did a lot of searching. Made a lot of mistakes.
Well, I guess I’m still accepting. I’m still making mistakes, but I am still human.