8 years

Eight years. Has it really been that long? Seems like a lifetime ago. Eight years ago I started working at the place I'm still at today. My kids were babies, just 2 years old and 6 months old. I was still in my twenties. Eight years ago I still held out hope that you would change. Hope that you would try to help yourself. Hope that we could one day at the very least be friends. But you crushed my hope. You killed it. You killed yourself.

Eight years has lessened the hurt. I hope one day it will lessen the anger. I feel as if I will forever be pissed at you for being so fucking selfish. If you had been sick, or in an accident, if you had left this Earth involuntarily I wouldn't be mad. You made the choice to leave. To leave us. To leave me. To never give me the chance to get to know if you were the person I so desperately wanted you to be. I believed there was good in you. I wish you had believed it yourself.

Eight years has given me a lot of time to think. To learn. To come to terms with things. If you had lived would things have been different? I'll never know. That's the hardest part. The fact that life will go on without knowing what could have been. How can I miss something I never really had? I don't know how that's possible but I do. I haven't" missed out" on anything. There has been so much love in my life that I haven't felt empty. But there was a place for you in there.

Eight years. In another eight years I don't plan on still being at the same job I'm at now. My kids will be close to being grown up. I will be in my forties. I have a new hope for the next eight years. I hope my anger with you fades like the hurt did. From what I have learned so far, I'm sure it will.