When the closest person I had to a brother died, the usual people sent the usual platitudes. There is one that, three years down the line pisses me off to no ends.
Time heals all wounds.
No. It doesn’t. It fucking doesn’t. I may not cry every day. I may not rage at the universe every single day like I did three years ago, but when the pain comes it hurts just as intensely as it did when DJ called and said the words “we lost a friend today”
Actually, at times it hurts even more because that wonderful numbness of disbelief has faded. The initial feeling that this couldn’t be happening and that I’ll just wake up and it would have not happened isn’t there any more like this buffer protecting me from the fact that he is gone. Forever. There’s nothing dulling the hurt and the anger. And I am angry. I’m so fucking angry he’s gone. The impact that this had had on his family, his friends, on me damnit, makes me so angry.
It may have been 3 years, but all I want, all I wish for is just one more day. One more silly phone call on my birthday. Just one more hug. I don’t think I’ll ever wish less. I don’t think it will ever hurt less.
All I have to do is look at my kid and I know with every fibre of my soul that time does not have the power that is attributed to it. Sometimes only a miracle can soothe a broken heart. Time has nothing to do with it.
I think most people feel so helpless in the face of another persons grief that they want to say anything just to make it seem better, anything that might offer comfort. What people forget, is that it is not words that comfort, but rather being present and with someone, just offering the support they need.
Wounds of grief cut deeply, and while with time the periods between heart crushing moments of seering pain get longer, when they come they are as bad as in the very beginning.
((hugs))