An anniversary passed recently. It was a weird one because, while it didn’t pass unnoticed, it definitely wasn’t filled with overwhelming sorrow or grief. While the shadow of a child that “might have been” will never (I think) pass without some bitterness, I didn’t feel the need to go somewhere privately and sob for a while. Or days.
This is an improvement. A vast improvement.
When people tell me “time heals all wounds” I always think, “oh yeah, I know that’s true. So I’ll be good in short order.”
But I usually fail to remember that time is less a giant eraser and more a very slow, gradual leak.
Time: every day one drop drips out.
Eventually, the weight isn’t as extreme as it used to be, but that’s not much of a relief in the day to day. I always forget that. It always bugs me. Until enough time has passed. Then I forget again.
Thankfully, very thankfully, enough time has passed for this particular bucket to be (finally) noticeably less full. I don’t really anticipate it ever being totally empty, but I can really appreciate the lack of weight that time has managed to eke out for me. Like woah.