If you are ever a part of a funeral, you will find the
phrase you hear more than any other is, “Time heals.” I’ve heard this before,
and even applied it in certain times in my life. And in all other situations
this is normally applicable. In middle school when rumors spread and you are
the center of ridicule, you feel as if it is the absolute end of the world, but
you soon learn that if you wait it out, two weeks later the ever so intelligent
minds of middle schoolers will find someone else to talk about. In high school
when you and the “love of your life” have broken up you feel certain that you
will die right then and there from utter sorrow and separation anxiety. But after
a month or so you find yourself back out with your friends, sometimes slowly
mending, but eventually returning to your original state. But death is not that
way. Because there is nothing to return to. Time doesn’t HEAL. Because healing
would imply that it could be fixed. You refer to healing when you are speaking
of a broken bone or a scrape. And you use the term “heal” because doctors or
experts of some sort believe that the bone will grow back together and be just
as good as it was before. And be normal. And when a cut heals it mends and tiny
skin particles lace intricately to make it seem as though you were never hurt
at all. And that’s healing. But there is no healing after death. It’s like
becoming paralyzed. With assistance, you might be able to do most of the things
you used to do. And you might even be happy again. But you will never go back
to the way you were before. You will still look down every day and realize that
you are paralyzed and remember how you got to be that way. You have to make almost
every decision you made before, differently. Bailey is the first thought I have
in the morning and the last thought in the evening. She determines the radio
station, the candle scent, the color schemes, the movie selection, and my
dessert; because all of those things can completely change my mood. I can’t
listen to For Good or I Will Stand By You because she named them our “sister
songs”. I can’t have anything lime green
because that was her color. I can’t have evergreen candles because of our
little joke surrounding forest smells. I can’t watch My Sisters Keeper because
we saw it together in theaters and cried throughout the whole thing on one another’s
shoulders. I can’t have red velvet cake because it was her favorite and my
mother loved to make it for her. And maybe I will be able to do these things
again. I will reteach myself how to bare these memories. But either way, that
loss controls those thoughts.
Time has never been a comforting thing for me. It terrifies
me to live in a world without Bailey and time only inches me farther and
farther away from her existence. Which further solidifies the frustrating fact
that I have no control over time. So maybe that’s my real anger towards it.
This month, has been impossible. Every memory I have of this time last year, is
fresh and bright.. and she is there. And then I fast forward to that night. And
whatever memory I was attempting to enjoy becomes screeching tires and a fatal
car crash. Every happy memory feels disgustingly fake and forced. Because I know
what happens next. I know that doesn’t last. The year marker brings new fears
and puts others to rest. I have told myself all year, if you make it through
the first year, you’ve won. And that triumph will still be in place. I will
take joy in the spite I will throw at the devil. He challenged me with
everything he had, and he lost. But I am also acutely aware of how things will
change after this year is up. People are understanding of loss, to an extent.
But many believe that a year is plenty of time to be “okay”. And honestly, I believed
that as well at first. I was under the assumption that once I covered the “firsts”
it would be easier, and I would miss her less. But what I have had to come to
accept is that I am in for a lifetime of missing her. There is no finish line
for grief. Missing her will never stop. So like someone paralyzed, there is no
healing, there is only coping. There is learning how to live without your
original mobility, even learning how to make the best of it. But there is no way
to be completely whole again. With that being said, there are plenty of ways to
fill your life to its absolute fullest through Christ Jesus. And the Lord has
blessed me in so many ways this year through this tragic and awful thing. My
Lord has grown from my distant God to my comforting Father and knowing God in
that intimate way has truly been the most rewarding part of this year. So what I have learned about time is this, it
does not heal, but it does teach. It gives you a chance to distance yourself
from a situation and truly understand and appreciate the blessings that came
from it. The friendships that were formed or strengthened. The family bonds you
have a new found appreciation for. The church family you might have taken
advantage of before, or the community you were convinced you wanted to
leave. I am not ready for it to be a
year, but I can say I am so grateful to have made it this far. The support
system I have is overwhelming and I can’t thank half of you enough for the
encouragement you have given me this year. I hope I am able to give back to you
all in some way in the future. For now, I will write. And in that regard, thank
you for listening. The positive feedback I continue to receive has allowed
writing to become my safe haven of expression, the one place I am completely
honest and shamelessly naked. I hope God will continue to use it in His way. Here’s
to the upcoming year of learning, may it be as rewarding as the last. God bless
you all. 