It’s actually most unwelcome. Now that J’s memorial service is over, I’m left with the grim, dark reality that he’s actually really gone. It’s hitting home in a much more real way than it was before.
I wrote about his memorial service at Medium the other day. It was a beautiful service that showed him the honor he deserved. But (as I wrote about in the article) his mom and stepdad didn’t show up—which they had already decided even before I wrote about how much he was abused growing up. And to be honest, I really downplayed the extent of his abuse, too. It was much worse than I described but I will hold those secrets in my head.
Honestly, I’ll probably have to talk about them in therapy. But I’m a little nervous to do so because I’m afraid my therapist (who is otherwise so great) is going to try to get me to understand my MIL, like she did last time I brought her up.
Frankly, I don’t give a shit why my MIL is a narcissist or what created that personality disorder in her. I don’t want to have sympathy for her right now.
I’m honestly so, so angry with her right now. She and her husband should be the ones whose bones are ground into dust, not my husband. I am angry and only getting angrier. I mean, what kind of “mother” doesn’t go to her own son’s memorial service? Even if it’s because she feels like she’s been wronged? And frankly the reasons she felt wronged were so immature, like trying to reason with a toddler.
I just feel so robbed of the great husband I had and am supposed to still have now. I want to stomp my feet, throw a tantrum, wail about the utter unfairness of life.
I repeat: my MIL and stepFIL are the ones whose bones deserve to be ground into dust. NOT my husband.