Time Does Not Heal

Time heals all wounds, they say.  I call BS.

Time doesn't heal.

I recently read a post about this and I found it to be profound.  The post I read wasn't completely in line with what I've learned in the past year-and-a-half specifically, and more generally, in the past seven years, in which I have lost six very significant players in my life.

But the statement still rings true for me: Time does not heal.

Time simply provides a window in which you are given the opportunity to gather tools. Tools to help you survive. Tools to help you grow. Tools to help you come to grips with your reality,

The tools are presented in different forms and at different frequencies for every person needing healing. I'm sure this is true whatever the nature of your wounds.

I, personally, am determined to grab every tool I can manage to latch onto.

My mind's eye envisions this like an old-school video game where items are dropping from the top of the screen and you are trying to click on as many 'point giving items' as you can while avoiding bombs that set you back.

And for sure I have, and will again, miss some important tools that I was given opportunity to collect. I've also collected some bombs that have hindered my progress.

And honestly, there have been moments, days, and even weeks, where I don't actually want to collect tools because I'm kinda comfortable in my grief and don't really want to move forward.

But the tools are there.

And I'm free to collect them, or turn a blind eye to them, or purposely avoid clicking on them.

And my healing journey will reflect my choices.

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January 23, 1982 was 38 years ago.

It was cold. It was snowy. Like, FRIGGIN' snowy! (Snowiest winter I recall) It was not ideal.

But it was the day I said, "I do." And I did.

And Albert committed to "till death do us part." And he followed through.