They say, “Time heals all,” or “Time heals everything.” There’s even one that says, “Time heals all wounds.”
…but, I wonder. Really… does it?
It’s been 10,464 days since my Mom died. Yes, that’s a big wound, but it’s also a pretty long time! 28.6 years to be exact!
7,942 days, since my Dad unexpectedly, checked out. Again, 21.7 years, feels like a very long time!
My brother Charlie’s been gone 4,189 days or 11.4 years.
And Tommy? Well, he’s been gone a mere 1,076 days or 2.94 years, not a long time, in the big scheme of things. (Both of those losses are still inconceivable to me. I always expected to lose Mom & Dad… but not my big brothers!)
To tell you the truth, I don’t think time has really changed a goddamn thing!
Oh sure… maybe the intensity of the pain… is not as unbearable as it once was. The day in, day out torment, of my losses, no longer paralyses me. And the anguish of being without my of my original family, is almost tolerable… some days.
…but has time really changed or lessened the constant, unrelenting pain, stabbing at my heart? Or has time filled that huge gaping hole, where their love, for me, used to overflow?
The simple answer is, “NO,” it has not.
Rose Kennedy was quoted as saying, “It has been said that time heals all wounds. The wounds remain. Time – the mind, protecting its sanity – covers them with some scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it is never gone.
I guess I kind of believe that… in a loosey-goosey kind of way; but “scar tissue” is defined as a “fibrous tissue that replaces normal skin after an injury.”
My wounds, aren’t scar tissue… they’re more like scabs.
They are encrusted sores, that have been begrudgingly formed by a lot of pain, blood and pus. They’re hard, brown/red, angry, ugly disfigurements, that remind me, on a daily basis, of my losses.
I can pick them off at will and sometimes they come off by themselves; like if scraped up against something (like someone else’s wound).
The moisture from my tears (just like water in a shower) will dissolve my scabs and they’ll start to weep and bleed, all over again… just like they did, when they were fresh.
Hmmmm? I’m sorry Rose, you were a very wise and strong woman, but I don’t think time is doing such a good job at protecting my sanity… I’m still as fucked up about my losses as I was 28, 21, 11, and 2 years ago.
Time may have camouflage my grief… but it’s still there, just under the surface of those scabs.
Pick, pick, pick, pick
Thomas N Grassel Jr
March 29, 1947 – March 25, 2017