Year One.

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.