Time heals all wounds

I’ve been travelling so much that I have not had time to write; I’ve also not had time to think or remember which can be a catch 22 in itself.  Now that I’m home for a couple of weeks my mind has settled back into its old routine and the painful memories seem more vibrant than ever.  I woke up last night about 2:00 a.m. with thoughts of my dad.  I was dreaming about the last time we spoke which was an hour before his surgery.  I remember how casual the conversation was  because it was ignorant to what was about to transpire.  It ended with a quick ‘I love you dad’ and that was the very last time I heard my dad’s voice.  I’m not sure why I have not thought about that phone call until now; I’ve thought about the last hug from him the night before his surgery but the phone call escaped my consciousness.  I stood in the bathroom trying to remain quiet as to not wake my husband; the room was dimly lit but as I stared at my reflection in the mirror  I realized I didn’t need much light to see how much pain I was still feeling.   I sat down on the toilet with my head in my hands and I noticed a slip of paper on the floor.  As I bent to pick it up I realized it was the fortune from my fortune cookie that my son had been carrying around pretending it was a map.  “Time Heals All Wounds,” was printed on the rumpled piece of paper.  I almost laughed out loud because it was as if the universe was trying to send me a message.  My son called the fortune a ‘map’, is that irony?  Was that slip of paper  my map on how to best navigate through the minefield inside of me?  I sat there turning the  piece of paper over and over with my fingers trying to decide if i even believed that time could heal anything.  I decided it was much too late and my bathroom wasn’t the right place for such heavy contemplation so I went back to bed.  I laid there with my eyes closed as the memories of past wounds raced furiously inside my head.  My first heartache, when I think back to that moment when it actually felt as if my heart were crumbling inside my chest, I could still remember the pain.  Is remembering pain the same as feeling it?  When I was 5 I was at a summer camp with my brother; it was time to get on the bus to go home and I was running across the parking lot and lost my footing on the loose gravel.  As I hit the ground I felt the sharp stab of pain in my left knee and the blood dripping down my leg as I stood confirmed the pain was valid.  Six stitches later I remember the doctor telling me when it healed I’d be good as new with only a little scar left to remind me of the pain.  Do you know to this day if I bump that knee against something I still feel the same shooting pain through my leg?  Time healed the outside of the wound but on the inside, it remains.  Maybe we tell ourselves that time heals all wounds as a way of hoping that at some moment in time in the future we will not feel the pain any longer.  Maybe all time really does is add a few stitches to the surface of the pain so that it’s not as noticeable. 

Twenty years from now I can guarantee you that the pain I feel over the loss of my father will still be here.  It may be duller, less prevalent, but its existence will be as real as it is at this moment.

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