Skip to main content

If Time had the Authority to Heal

         One of the popular Facebook pages related to the grief of losing a child recently asked the question:

Does time heal all wounds?

The answer was an overwhelming and resounding "no" from the commenters. It was a feed of hurt and brokenness, and I ached for them all.

When was it decided that time, in fact, had the authority to heal?

I wonder if it was a concept brought on by the narrative of "its been long enough, your grief should be done"? Its something that is certainly said enough, often by people who simple cannot understand your grief (in whatever capacity it exists, for whatever reason).

It seems like something the grief community mistakingly adopted in order to try to control their own narrative surrounding grief. Admitting that "yes, I will one day be "healed" but I need time...more time."

Because, apparently, "time heals all wounds", didn't you know?

I firmly believe that losing a child, or any loved one, is actually not something that one can be, or even need to be, "healed" from.

Gasp and shock?!

Now, don't get me wrong, these events are filled with trauma (physical and emotional), bitterness, anger, and a myriad of other things that we can actually heal from.
But, this world was created to be finite. Which means, that death was in the plan. God knew where our world was heading prior to creation, He was no stranger to death, it was a natural consequence of our own actions, our own depravity.

The loss of a loved one is not something to "heal" from. There is not healing when something you love is removed from your life for the rest of your life.
To claim that we, in fact, heal from the loss, is to claim that we are made new again. And sorry, that's not how this world works, just wait until eternity, y'all .

They existed, they were loved, and they mattered. For however long, in whatever way. They changed us, and I, for one, would never choose to go back to the way I was before them.

I have been made better because Kimber lived in me, and then he died. I have still been made better, despite the fact that his life ended far earlier that I ever wanted. I don't want to ever go back to a time when he didn't exist.

Time is merely a collection of moments, with no authority in healing, and our loved ones are far more than mere moments. So, mere moments cannot take away their influence.

We were designed to endure loss, to embrace it, and to love in it.

Jesus has the authority to heal. To make our hearts continue to beat when their hearts stop. To bring the light again when we thought light wouldn't shine again.
In His infinite wisdom, He chose to make them matter. He chose to make love greater than death.

Death has indeed defeated time, but we must never forget the one who defeated death, even death on a cross.




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Tainting of Tattoos

  You know, despite my tattoos...and piercings...and partially shaved head...I never considered that my look was very "alternative". At least not until someone said it was. I just thought that I was expressing myself in ways I might not have before. *I* like how I look...and I guess, if I'm being honest, what other people might think just doesn’t really factor into anything I do. But certainly not in the sense that I expect everyone to love everything about it all. My poor mom dislikes tattoos, my brother makes fun of my hair, and lots of people have said "oh...it's not quite my thing".  I never expected people to like these things about me the way I like them about me. I am not particularly bothered if it’s not your thing. It doesn't offend me. I'm not asking you to get a tattoo...or a piercing...or to shave your head. *I* did it because *I* wanted to...you just didn't factor into it. That being said...I've never been judged so...interesting...

She Doesn’t Call Me Mom…

  My daughter doesn't call me Mom. There's a brutality in that that doesn't seem to fade. Because it's not just a name. If it was just a name I'd be okay with it...with not being Mom. But it's so much more, and in this season of life, my heart is seemingly constantly being broken in the wake of a daughter who does not want me to be her mother.  I have held in secret deep hurts and brokenness in the life of my teenager's adoption. Partly because it's not only my story, but hers as well. But this year has been so very heavy...and I have so often felt so very alone in that heaviness. Who understands the rejection of RAD? Of ODD? Of ADHD? Of Adoption? Of a child who is so very loving and kind to everyone except their mom? I've read post after post of mothers, of fathers, of siblings, of children who have faced or are facing the exact life we are living, and they a balm to my weary soul. Comfort in the knowledge that we are not alone...that I am not alon...

Four Years a Widow

  4 years a widow... 4 years into this journey and I can say, with some certainty, that it is a whole lot easier than it was 4 years ago...3 years ago...2 years ago...even 1 year ago. So, at the very least, it's trending up, eh? I haven't sobbed hysterically over my dead husband in ages, years even. The grief is much more sophisticated now, I get choked up, maybe let a tear or two fall out. Nothing quite so dramatic as the panic attacks I used to have. It's all quite tame and reasonable...you know...until its not...and it steals my breathe by sheer surprise. And a part of me forgets that there was ever a time when it felt normal for John to be dead. Because, 4 years in, it is normal. Normal for John to be dead. Normal to not know how to fix the broken things. Normal to sleep in bed alone. Normal to wish there was just a moment where I didn't have to manage all of these things all by myself. (Because being an independent woman is ridiculously overrated...0/10 - do not re...