Time

We often think time is healing, that the passage of time itself will somehow scab over the wound and heal our shattered lives. It doesn’t.  Time does not heal, it passes.  Time is selfish; time thinks not for anyone or anything, it just is.  With time, civilians, those who have not lost a child, often believe we revert to our old selves, we somehow return to “normal.” Such belief is so flawed.  It would seem human nature is to believe we are so resilient a creature that we can transform ourselves into whatever we wish regardless of what tragedy befalls us.  Ain’t so; I lost normal on January 1, 2010 at 2:42 pm.; normal will never again be a part of my existence.

There is a feeling I get that tells me…people believe I have or at least should have moved on with my life.  Again I say, time passes; there is no healing here, just time. I get up every day and go to work.  I go about my daily routine and handle all the crap life has to throw at me.  I trudge through the slime of life and drag myself to bed at night, pray I will sleep, and I force myself to wake each morning and hope that I can suppress the horrid memories of that time and the awful reality of this existence. 

Then I wonder if what I’m doing is right or wrong, all I read tells me it is not healthy to hold back on grieving, that suppression of pain will only result in an explosion of anger or a devastating blow of depression. I wish I knew how I was to feel in this place, what the “correct” thing to do may actually be.  In reality, I know there is no correct way to grieve the death of a child, but I just feel like I’m doing something wrong here.

Did I tell you that I miss my son.  I miss him so much.  But still, I don’t want to cry, I don’t want to hurt.  I don’t want to miss him and long for him to be here.  I want to believe that he’s ok, I want to think that I wouldn’t want him to have lived with such devastating injuries, to sustain rehabilitation and endure recovery.  But those are lies, bald face lies.  I want my son here, on this earth, with me, with me until the day I take my last breath. 

Instead, I will wait to greet him in the ever after, wait to hold him in my arms once again, to kiss his cheek, to hear his voice, to say, "I love you son. I'm so proud of you."  

Did I tell you that I hurt?  I ache with pain so deep, so encompassing, so powerful that I truly cannot describe it. 

I believed that time would help.  It doesn’t.  I miss my son as much today as ever before.   

Often people believe that time will heal; it doesn’t ~ time passes.