I've been thinking a lot about the concept of time lately. The continuous, sprawling landscape of seconds and minutes, hours and days. The good moments, the bad, the monotony. I think about the saying, "Time heals all wounds." I don't necessarily agree with that. With time, there is the inevitable blurring and fading of those memories, those feelings, I suppose. That very particular way that you felt standing in that very particular moment when life shifted dramatically once more. Day by day, you do begin to confuse all of the specific details. That much is true. The way the lights shone in the room, the beeping of the machines-how many were there again? What you were wearing, the clouds looming ominously outside of the window, was the traffic bad that day? And when there was nowhere else to look and you felt yourself closing in, how you let your gaze slip to the dirty floor. How long had it been since someone had cleaned it? And you mistakenly think in those moments when the floors of the life you had, begin to collapse and shift, that you will remember it all. Every little thing.
Until the days pass one after the other and you realize that you no longer do.
A year goes by and life goes on and you simply can't hold on to everything. Or everyone. I'm constantly learning this.
So here I am, a year after the big move back East, a year above and beneath all of the triumphs and failures of 2016. The laughter and the tears.
Here I am three months after what was indescribably one of the worst weeks of my life.
A lot can happen in three months, however. Here is the running total:
- 1 parent lost
- 1 senseless car accident
- Over 20 physical therapy appointments (and counting)
- Roughly 4 weeks of gritting my teeth through dry needling PT appointments (and counting)
- 1 family dog lost
- 1 hurricane
- 1 trip to Maine and Quebec City, Canada
- 1 Pokemon themed birthday party
- 1 medium-sized move out of Charleston and closer to Charlotte
- 1 week's notice for said move (talk about insanity-though I rocked all 7 days of it)
- 1 old school, 1 new school
- 7 years of marriage, celebrated
- 11 years of ups and downs together, honored
- 1 precious new house on a tree-lined street in what can only be described as suburban utopia
- Countless new friends
- Immeasurable life lessons learned
Time has not healed my wounds, though it has brought me to a place of acceptance. A sacred space of understanding that which we have no control over. I know that I will always feel the loss of my father. Every birthday, every holiday, every time I pass a yard sale or browse a family photo album. Every time I turn on the radio and hear his songs. Every time I think of that unopened National Lampoon's Vacation DVD set that always reminded me of our vacations as a teenager, which he never got to watch. I think of my mother having to leave their home in a few months and I want to weep at the loss in equal measure to advocating for her to go. Nothing lasts forever. This I have had to learn too.
Though time will eventually allow me to function at 100% again, I hope (and sooner rather than later), time will not erase the nerve damage I have suffered from the accident, nor the trauma in dealing with the after effects.
Time does not make us forget those which we have lost or had to leave along the way, but it does lessen the pain most days so that we can continue the work of living and loving. And of finding joy and peace, too.
A few pictures to update:
We march to the beat of time, but we are neither broken nor healed by it. We have to find our own path there, on our own terms.