It’s hard to believe this saga has almost come to an end.

The check has been sent and received. The final payments have been made. The bills are paid up and paid off. The taxes are paid.

The space between four century-old walls that would have been my home will soon be relinquished.

I feel overwhelmed with grief for a home that was never mine. For a life that I never lived. For a relationship that never existed. For a vision of love that persisted for more than three decades.

It’s been 18 months since I last looked upon your face or heard your voice. In the span of a child’s lifetime, it seems like such a long time ago… but now, as a 33 year old woman, it doesn’t seem so far away.

On that fateful New Years Eve, you attempted to take my life and yours. You waited for my husband and mother-in-law to leave to get us all lunch. You waited until we were alone. You were prepared. You already had the gun by your side. It took you less a few seconds to retrieve it as once laid on your bed beside you just moments before.

You looked not through me, but beyond me, in your psychotic rage. Your eyes were dark and lifeless. Soulless. You were not in there, not really. Someone else had taken over. Someone I had seen handfuls of times in the midst of punishment growing up.

In that moment, you had the case open, and your hand was on the gun, ready to pull it out when I made the split second decision to grab the case instead of talk you out of whatever you were about to do.

I latched the case closed. You overpowered me and unlatched it. We struggled for more than ten minutes like this as we slowly descended to the ground. It was the closest I had been to you since I was a young girl, entangled with your hands as I tried to release your grip on your gun.

It took every ounce of strength within me to pull you away from the gun. To keep you from being able to pull it fully out of the case.

My nails dug into the palms of my hands as I tried to keep your wrists at bay. I tore the soft tissues around my left lung and breast. I sprained the ligaments in my wrists making it impossible to use a computer or write anything for nearly three months.

In all your reported weaknesses through illness and age, you were very strong. You were stronger than me, as you always have been.

But this time… I weighed more than you.

For the first time in my life, I had the advantage because I weighed more than you did. In my mixture of grief and depression, my weight had ballooned back to a record high… a debilitating defeat I am not proud of. I watched the shape of my reflection change in the mirror as the weight of loss and hopelessness settled into my bones.

And because of my weight, I was able to push you down with my left knee, distracting you long enough to break free your grasp, and toss the gun away from both of us.

You were so hyper-focused on the gun, you didn’t pay attention to anything else. It was the only thing you wanted. In your fixation, trying to pry the latch of the gun case open with your teeth, I managed to free my hand for a moment, just a moment, and throw it a few feet away from both of us.

Those moments were so terrifying. They haunted me for months afterwards. I dreamed horrible, horrible dreams drenched in death, disappointment, and fear. One small mistake could’ve meant you would take control, steady your aim, and fire.

And just as you brought me into this world just a mere 32 years before, you would have taken me out of it. And, almost certainly, you would have taken yourself in the aftermath, too.

I was plagued with endless days of sleeping for weeks, tirelessly unable to function at all… and then, in the polar opposite affect, I was plagued with insomnia for weeks after that.

For the inner child within me who never knew a mother’s love. For the little girl who so desperately wanted that bond to exist. For the young woman who spent her twenties trying to save the life of the woman who brought her life.

For the broken girl within her who became a woman all too quickly, being thrusted into motherhood by the married 40-something man who was her father’s closest friend. For the young woman who trying to raise two young girls, never healing from her own childhood traumas. For the adult woman who succumbed to the very mental illnesses she sought to escape that plagued her own mother, never fully realizing her own potential.

If there is anything I have learned from all of this… I cannot save anyone from the monster within themselves.

Now, I finally understand it.

Our journey through healing isn’t meant to be shared with those who came before us… it’s to help those who come after us.

I have to break the cycle for me.

For my future. For my children. For my grandchildren.

I will always love you, mother.

But for my own sake, for my dreams of who I want to be, for who I am meant to become… for the future me, for my future children…

I must let you go.

… and so, I shall.

I hope you find whatever it you are looking for in this life. I hope you find that spark of happiness that brings you joy. I hope you heal your heart from within and radiate with love and truth.

I don’t know if this is goodbye forever. Maybe someday, the winds will blow in a different way, and you may find yourself missing the person you once were… the person you wanted to be. Maybe someday, you’ll remember the faces of your daughters and yearn to hear their laughter and whispers of, “I love you,” once more.

Forever is a long time, but maybe?… doesn’t always have to be forever. So, maybe we will see each other again someday.

Heal yourself, mother. Please.

I believe in you. I believe you can.

I forgive you.