Yesterday was my last visit to my therapist’s office. She’s moving on since her program at this hospital has ended, and she’s graduating this month. I still have her number and contact information; she said that I can call her to reach out or meet randomly whenever I wanted, which was really nice and generous of her.

After six months of seeing her, I’d say that my anger has greatly diminished; some of it will always continue to linger when it comes to my family members’ attitude and treatment of Ed, but that’s probably impossible to completely get rid of. I’m never going to be the person who advocates for everyone to have a therapist or not to have a therapist; sweeping statements like that are just stupid to make because while none of us is “special,” each of our life circumstances is different, so it’s really up to each person to make that judgment. Time always helps, but it also helped for me to talk to an impartial third party about what I’ve been through my whole life. It’s helped validate my feelings and allowed me to continue moving forward with my life instead of futilely holding onto the past and all the terrible, negative feelings and memories.

Part of adulthood is about letting go of bad experiences you’ve had in your life; holding grudges doesn’t hurt anyone but ourselves. The sad thing is that I can’t say anyone in my family has achieved this other than my dad’s older brother’s wife. It’s the least true of my dad and his two living siblings. I don’t want to be like that, and I owe it to Ed to not repeat the stupid, pointless ways of the generations before us.