Another Mother’s Day is over. May 2003 was the first one without my Mom. It’s been 20 years.
I realized that it’s not time that’s healing wounds. Time’s not even an accomplice or facilitator in the feel better business. If it really cared about our wounds, it would stop— or at least pause— and let you get yourself together, think, process, plan, catch your breath, and think some more. But no. It just keeps rolling, and sometimes (seemingly) much faster than it used to.
Time doesn’t care about soothing emotions, or healing hearts. It has stuff to do. It has one mission, and one mission only— to pass. You can’t blame it for doing what it does best. It’s all about forward motion. It’s not waiting for you to get ready. It has this tricky component called A Moment’s Notice, that has a habit of popping up all willy-nilly. It teaches you how to BE and STAY ready. Some things, however, are bound to happen, but you’re just not ever ready for them.
Time has a lot of tricks, but it has no power to heal. It’s perfectly fine if you never get over, past, or through whatever IT is. It’s not altering its agenda one bit. It doesn’t care if you show up tomorrow the same way you showed up yesterday. It’ll let you.
The healing isn’t in time. It’s in you. It’s a gradual decision. The tools are there. It’s all in how you use them. Time isn’t the healer. It’s just one of the tools. It can be set aside, carved up, managed, spent, and used. Funny thing is, even though you don’t know how much you have altogether, every “now, right this minute”, is available and useable.
Things don’t get better with time. They get better according to how time is used.
The aches, pains, angst, and sorrow of yesterday seem less intense. That lump in your throat is gone. It no longer feels like all of the fresh air has been sucked out of the rooms you occupy. Your stomach is no longer in knots, or flipping like an Olympic gymnast. You can look at, and even study those photos and handle those cherished possessions. They have great stories to tell.
Some memories fade, while others— more pleasant, uplifting, and informative, are now front and center. You’re smiling, laughing, and shrugging off stuff. Priorities are reordered. Mercy, grace, and respect is extended. Lessons are learned and understood. New information is flowing. Grieving and mourning, at some point converted to honoring and celebrating.
It’s not that love has faded or died. It’s not that you miss people any less, or have forgotten them. You’ve just used time to help you see them through different eyes. In doing so, sad tears turn to joyful ones, and grief turns to determination to be the kind of person, perhaps, that they were, and live the kind of life that inspires and, one day, yields hope and fond memories for someone else.
Time doesn’t even record when. You just wake up one day, and know you’re okay.
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