Time has not healed me. Time will not heal me. Yes, I believe I am healing, but there is a difference between healing and healed. The first is a process; the second is an end that I will not reach until I am with my babies again, an end that I will not reach in this lifetime.
What time has done for me is dull the edges of grief. It’s made the sharp, breathless, world-is-spiraling, chest-is-aching kind of pain less pronounced, less consistent, and replaced it with longing—a much softer companion.
I take this longing wherever I go. I feel it in my bones, in my gut, in my chest. It’s with me when I think of my children, when I write of them, when my hand instinctively reaches for and touches my pendant and this touch invokes their names: Calvin, Rainbow, Gaelen. This longing is with me when I look at their father. It’s with me when I see other children and wonder what my three (I have three!) would be doing if they had lived.
I take this longing wherever I go. It reminds me that I am their mother, and I will always long for my babies.
Is it the same for you?
Has time changed changed your grief at all? Which part of your grieving has taken permanent residence in your heart?