Finding Peace After an Abuser's Death
Complicated Grief When the Person Who Hurt You Is Gone
When someone who caused you deep harm dies, grief rarely feels simple. You might feel sadness, anger, relief, or guilt, sometimes all at once. These emotions can collide in ways that make you question what's “normal." But here's the truth: your feelings, however contradictory they seem, make complete sense.
In this article:
Why complex emotions after an abuser's death are normal
How trauma can resurface and what helps you stay grounded
Ways to find closure and peace on your own terms
When an abusive person dies, it can stir a storm of conflicting emotions. While others expect sorrow, you might feel confusion, liberation, or even numbness. Grieving someone who caused harm is not about excusing their behaviour; it's about honouring your own reality and the relief that comes with safety.
A Grief Few Understand
Erica, a woman in her late 60s, came to see me after her husband passed away. To outsiders, their marriage looked ordinary: forty years together, a house in the suburbs, grown children. But in one of our early sessions, she disclosed something she'd carried in silence for decades: her husband had been emotionally and psychologically abusive throughout their marriage.
He never hit her, so she struggled to name it as abuse. But he belittled her constantly, controlled the finances, isolated her from friends, and made her feel that nothing she did was ever good enough. Her children had long suspected the truth. They'd watched their mother shrink over the years, watched her apologise for things that weren't her fault, watched her flinch at his tone. Eventually, they'd made a painful decision: they went no-contact with both parents.
This devastated Erica. She felt abandoned, punished, ashamed—but still, she stayed in the marriage. She'd invested so much time, weathered so much harm. Leaving felt impossible. So she stayed, year after year, hoping something would change. It never did.
A Caregiver's Resentment
During her husband's last months, Erica took on the role of his primary caregiver. While professional nurses provided some assistance, the majority of his care fell to her. She bathed him, fed him, managed his medications, and sat beside his bed through long, silent nights.
He never offered an apology. He never acknowledged his behaviour. Instead, he continued his pattern of cruelty right to the end—intentionally soiling his bedding as one last way to exert dominance over her, to remind her that even in his dying, he had power over her existence.
After his death, Erica was surprised to discover she was experiencing grief. But she wasn't mourning the person he had actually been. She was grieving the years she had lost, the affection she had been denied, and the possibility of redemption that would never materialise.
Alongside her sadness, she felt something else: liberation. For the first time in forty years, she could make decisions without calculating how he would react. She could visit her children without his disapproval looming. She could exist without the constant weight of his contempt.
And then came the shame about feeling that liberation. What kind of person feels relief when their husband dies? What does it say about me that part of me is glad he's gone?
This kind of emotional contradiction is actually quite common. And it doesn't make you heartless. It makes you human.
Why Adult Children Sometimes Go No-Contact
Before we go further, it's worth pausing to address something that often accompanies these situations: the estrangement of adult children who witness one parent's abuse of the other.
Erica's children didn't cut contact because they didn't love her. They cut contact because staying connected to a dynamic where abuse was normalised and where their mother remained in harm's way despite their pleas was too painful and destabilising for them.
This is a pattern I see often in my practice. Adult children may distance themselves from both parents when:
They've tried to intervene and been dismissed
If they've expressed concern about the abusive parent and been told "it's not that bad" or “you don't understand," they may eventually stop trying.
They feel helpless to protect the non-abusive parent
Watching someone you love stay in harm's way, year after year, is agonising. Some adult children create distance to protect their own mental health.
The non-abusive parent has minimised or denied the harm
Even unintentionally, the non-abusive parent may enable the abuser by making excuses, covering for them, or insisting things aren't as bad as they seem. This can feel deeply invalidating to children who witnessed the abuse firsthand.
Staying connected means remaining entangled in an unhealthy system
Sometimes, the only way to break free from the psychological patterns of an abusive household is to step away entirely—even from the parent who wasn't the primary abuser.
This doesn't mean the adult children are right or wrong. It means they're trying to survive and heal in the way that makes sense to them. And for the non-abusive parent, this estrangement can compound the grief of losing a partner—even an abusive one.
If you're navigating estrangement and trying to understand it from multiple perspectives, this post may help: Parents Estranged from Adult Children.
A Complicated Loss
When someone who caused you harm passes away, your grief won't match the conventional patterns people expect. You may experience sadness and rage, but also bewilderment, emotional numbness, or unexpected tranquillity. Often, what you're actually grieving is the version of them you wished existed, rather than who they truly were.
Feeling liberated is normal, particularly if their existence meant living under constant intimidation or manipulation. Though this sense of freedom might seem inappropriate, it's entirely valid. Your instincts recognise that a source of danger has been removed. This response doesn't reflect callousness on your part—it reflects your humanity.
Mixed Emotions: Feeling Sad Yet Relieved
Most abusive people weren't consistently harmful. They had brief periods of kindness, made commitments to transform themselves, or showed glimpses of the person they might have been in different circumstances. Releasing the belief that “maybe things could have finally changed" represents its own form of mourning.
You might find yourself crying over memories of the good moments, the time they surprised you with kindness, the rare conversation where they actually listened, the fleeting sense that they saw you as worthy of love. These moments were real, even if they were rare. It's okay to grieve their loss alongside everything else you're feeling.
Experiencing sorrow doesn't indicate you're excusing their behaviour. Experiencing liberation doesn't mean you wanted them to suffer. These seemingly contradictory emotions can coexist within you simultaneously. In fact, that's one of the defining features of complicated grief: the ability to hold multiple truths at once.
If you're struggling to make sense of grief that feels tangled with trauma, this post explores the patterns and pathways to healing: Complicated Grief: When Loss Keeps Hurting Long After It's Over.
Grief is rarely simple.
The Anger Over Unresolved Justice
Among the most challenging feelings can be rage, directed not only at the person who hurt you, but at the absence of any resolution. There might be no acknowledgment of wrongdoing, no taking responsibility, no moment of honest reckoning. If you had clung to the possibility that they would eventually own up to their behaviour, their death can feel like justice has been permanently denied.
“They got away with it."
”They never had to face what they did."
”I'll never get an apology now."
These thoughts can be tormenting. The finality of death means there's no longer even a theoretical possibility of repair. The door you'd been hoping might one day open has closed forever.
Their passing may also bring into sharp focus the secondary devastation: connections with family or friends who distanced themselves because of the abuser's influence, or aspects of your identity that you had to suppress to endure. You might find yourself grieving not only the relationship but the version of yourself that got buried under years of survival.
This anger is valid. It's information. It's your system protesting the unfairness of what happened—and the fact that death has removed any chance of accountability.
Let the anger exist without judgment. It doesn't make you bitter or unforgiving. It makes you someone who recognises injustice and refuses to pretend otherwise.
Guilt and the "What Ifs"
Guilt is another common emotion, especially when you feel relieved. Society often teaches us that all losses should be mourned in a traditional way. But grieving isn't about meeting expectations; it's about coming to terms with your own reality.
You may also think, “What if they had changed?" or “Could things have been different?" These “what if" thoughts can cause you to stay trapped in a cycle of grief that is more about mourning the lost potential than the actual person.
Here's what I tell clients: Real change should have come from this person while they were alive. It's not your responsibility to carry the fantasy of who they might have been if circumstances were different. You can acknowledge that they were shaped by their own wounds, their own unmet needs, their own limitations and still hold the truth that they caused you harm.
Wishing things had gone differently is natural, but it doesn't change the past. And it doesn't mean you're responsible for their choices.
When Trauma Resurfaces
For some survivors, an abuser's death can reawaken dormant psychological wounds. Bad dreams, intrusive memories, or an unexplained sense of dread may resurface. Sometimes the mind struggles to accept that the death has actually occurred, as if it might be one final act of control, a trick, a manipulation, a way to test your reaction.
You might find yourself checking to make sure they're really gone. You might have moments where you forget they've died and brace yourself for an interaction that will never come. You might feel hypervigilant in ways that don't make logical sense, after all, they're gone. You should feel safe now. But trauma doesn't follow logic.
These responses are typical reactions to trauma. Your nervous system spent years (maybe decades) on high alert, scanning for danger, bracing for the next incident. It doesn't switch off immediately just because the threat has ended. It needs time to recalibrate, to learn that safety is now sustainable.
Working with a therapist who understands trauma can help you process these experiences in a safe environment. Therapeutic approaches like EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing) or trauma-focused CBT can serve as powerful resources for recovery. These modalities help your nervous system process what happened so that you can begin to feel the safety that's now available to you.
You might also find comfort in understanding the broader landscape of grief after trauma: When Estrangement Feels Like Grief
![A solitary candle burning against a dark background, symbolizing remembrance and release]
Grief is rarely simple, especially when love and pain coexist.
Finding Your Own Form of Closure
Finding closure doesn't require following conventional approaches. Some people find peace through composing a letter they'll never send, lighting a memorial flame, or returning to a place with personal significance. Others may choose to participate in funeral services—or make the conscious decision to stay away.
I recall a client who cleaned out her abusive father's home following his death. Though emotionally challenging, the process helped her take back control of a period in her life that had been ruled by terror. She sorted through his belongings, kept what mattered to her (a few photos from before things got bad, a book he'd given her as a child), and released the rest.
For her, this wasn't about forgiveness or reconciliation. It was about claiming her right to decide what she would carry forward and what she would leave behind. It was about no longer being at the mercy of his presence or his absence.
Resolution can take creative, symbolic, or private forms, and it can be entirely your own. There's no right way to do this. The only requirement is that it feels authentic to you.
Some Ways People Create Closure:
Writing unsent letters
Saying everything you need to say, without the pressure of how it will be received. You can write multiple letters over time as different emotions surface.
If you're considering this practice and want guidance on how to approach it, this post walks through the process: Writing a Letter to an Estranged Family Member
Holding a private ritual
Lighting a candle on significant dates, visiting a place that holds meaning, or releasing a written intention into water. These acts help mark the transition in a way your body can recognise.
Creating something new
Some people channel their grief and anger into art, writing, music, or activism. The creative process can be a way of transforming pain into something meaningful.
Choosing not to participate in public mourning
If the funeral or memorial service feels unsafe or inauthentic, you have every right to stay away. Your healing doesn't require you to perform grief for others.
Talking to a therapist
Sometimes the most powerful form of closure is being witnessed by someone who understands the complexity of what you're feeling and won't rush you toward forgiveness or “letting go."
You Don't Have to Do This Alone
Whether you're experiencing sorrow, emotional detachment, liberation, fury, or a combination of everything, you don't have to work through this by yourself. Speaking with someone who comprehends the intricacies of this type of mourning can provide valuable assistance.
Help is available through:
A therapist or counsellor trained in trauma recovery
Look for someone who understands complicated grief, domestic abuse, and the intersection of trauma and loss. Not all therapists are trained in this area, and working with someone who truly gets it can make all the difference.
Organisations that help survivors of domestic abuse
Many organisations offer support groups, counselling, and resources specifically for people who've survived abuse, including grief support after the abuser's death.
Peer support circles or community resources
Sometimes, connecting with others who've had similar experiences can be profoundly validating. Knowing you're not alone in feeling this complexity can ease the isolation.
Reliable friends or relatives who can listen without passing judgment
Not everyone will understand, but the people who can sit with your contradictions without trying to fix them are invaluable.
Respect Your Healing Process
There is no wrong or right way to experience feelings. Whether you feel relief, sadness, numbness, anger, or a combination of these feelings, all are valid. The important thing is that you take the time and space to process them without feeling guilty or ashamed.
Healing isn't about conforming to societal norms for grief. It's about letting yourself go on this journey, in all its messiness and contradiction. It's about allowing yourself to feel what you feel without needing to justify it to anyone, including yourself.
Take things slowly. Seek support when needed. And remember that you deserve peace, both now and in the future, not because you've "earned" it through perfect grief, but because you survived something difficult and you're still here.
Moving Forward
Months or years from now, you might look back on this time and see how much you've grown. The grief may not disappear entirely, but it often becomes more manageable. The relief may stop feeling so guilt-ridden. The anger may transform into something more like acceptance, not acceptance of what they did, but acceptance that it happened and that you're moving forward anyway.
You might find that over time, you think about them less. Not because you've forgotten, but because their presence (and absence) no longer defines your daily life. You might discover new relationships, new joys, new parts of yourself that were buried during the years of survival.
This doesn't mean you'll never have hard days. Anniversaries, holidays, or unexpected triggers might bring the feelings rushing back. But with support and time, those days become less frequent and less overwhelming.
You're allowed to grieve. You're allowed to feel relief. You're allowed to be angry. You're allowed to feel nothing at all. And you're allowed to change your mind about how you feel as many times as you need to.
Your healing is not linear, and it doesn't have a deadline.
If you’re looking for support with complicated or conflicted grief after trauma or abuse, many survivors find it helpful to talk with someone trained in trauma-informed grief support. If you would like to talk to me, you can get in touch with me here:
kat@safespacecounsellingservices.com.au
0452 285 526
Related Reading
If this article resonated with you, you might also find these helpful:
Complicated Grief: When Loss Keeps Hurting Long After It's Over
When grief after abuse doesn't follow the expected path—understanding why relief and sadness can coexist, and how to heal without closure.
When Estrangement Feels Like Grief
Explore the unique pain of losing someone who's still alive, and how to navigate grief without social recognition or rituals.
Writing a Letter to an Estranged Family Member
If you're considering writing to process your emotions (even without sending), this guide can help you navigate that decision safely.
Mother Wounds: How Emotional Neglect Shapes Women
Understanding how early relational trauma shapes adult life and how to begin healing those foundational wounds.
Emotionally Immature Parents: Their Impact and Breaking the Cycle
Learn how parental emotional immaturity creates lasting patterns, and how to interrupt those cycles in your own life.
