People say they are sorry when I tell them he died last December.

It’s only natural to say that, but I say ‘don’t worry I’m not sorry’.

(That’s not what they expect me to say)

I’m not sorry, it was time. It wasn’t Covid. I tell them.

There are things I can’t unlearn, images that don’t make sense

That offend and create dissonance. I think all sense of self restraint was going or gone.

Self-control waning, primal urges and instincts surfacing without boundaries.

That take away a person’s dignity, and a person’s identity – he wasn’t the same person.

Thank God. Nor am I.

And yet he was – on the inside.

Things too shocking to imagine.

And then there’s the secret bank account where he hid money from me.

That is not a good feeling. That is really where the ‘I’m not sorry’ is coming from.

Im not sorry he’s gone and can’t hurt me any more.

I am damaged – but now I can heal.

Now begins the new clean page. I don’t smell of fear any more.

Life after people can be liberating, with very little grief.

What are you looking for?