My mother was a meth addict who ruined the relationship we had, and I ended up moving out not long after after finding a shake and bake lab in the basement, which led to her becoming homeless. I loved my mother, but I did not like her really at all the last decade or so and was glad I lived out of state so I didn’t have to directly deal with her after about a year, and she died within 5 or 6 years after that. We talked a bit after I moved out/out of state, but I kept that to a minimum because fuck dealing with the guilt and anxiety she gave me.

As for how I felt, it was mainly relief mixed with grief, but the worst of the grief passed fairly quickly since I’d already grieved for the mother I lost, and only had to ‘grieve’ the passing of her mortal coil. I went into the wake/funeral process prepared to defend my choice in case anyone gave me shit about it, but I was very happy that the majority of her friends and my family told me I did the right thing.

Now-a-days I’m mostly over it, and the grief I still have is mainly just from reliving childhood trauma as I force myself to be a better parent than I ever had. I don’t believe in an afterlife, but I am glad she’s no longer suffering/making those around her miserable.