They say "time heals all," but time has hurt more than it has helped. - @safespacewithsariah
I was having a conversation with a friend who said that they disagreed with the statement "Time heals all." She is still processing the loss of a loved one who passed a number of years ago. And although time has passed, it still feels fresh and her emotional response is like it just happened yesterday. I agreed with her and responded that time has hurt more than it has helped.
I have been so angry at time. It has been 9 months, going on 10, since my dad passed away. It has not gotten easier. It is still very fresh. My mind still hasn't fully processed the fact that he's gone. I wake up and go through my daily routines still thinking he's at home going through his daily routines, then suddenly I remember that he's no longer there. He's no longer up making his cups of coffee. He's not cleaning artifacts at the museum. He's not headed to the church to cut the grass and pick up trash on the grounds. He is just... gone. There are holes everywhere that he once filled.
I am angry at myself for how much time I spent away from home. When my dad first passed, I had so much resentment for St. Louis, because I felt like I spent so much time here when I should have been spending it at home with my dad. I had decided that I wasn't coming back to St. Louis after my dad passed. In my head, Avery and I were going to stay in Oklahoma with my mom, and Lee could travel back and forth to see us or he could move with us. It didn't matter to me. I just knew I didn't want to leave, because leaving meant I was leaving my dad behind again. It meant I was leaving my mom behind to grieve by herself. It meant coming back to the tears, lonliness, and malice I was experiencing at the hands of people I was trying to serve well. Coming back meant I had to pick up all of my responsibilities that had already taken so much of my time, and here it was coming again to take up the time I needed to grieve.
For the 3 years I lived in St. Louis, I taught school, served my church, tried to be the best wife and mom I could, tried to build new relationships here, and for what? To miss out on spending time with my dad? At the time, all of those things felt worth staying for but after he died, they all seemed trivial and not as important as they once were. I regret not going home more. It is a 9 hour drive or a little over an hour by plane. That use to seem like such a huge time commitment and financial sacrifice when he was alive but now that he's gone, it doesn't seem so big anymore.
I was angry about how much time I spent at church. I was doing my best to be the best worship leader I could be for the church and what did I get in return? Disrespect, criticism, many tears, almost had a mental breakdown, but I stayed. I endured trying to serve God and His people well. And what did God do in return? He allowed my dad to die. I spent so much time and energy serving people who in the end didn't care how what they said or did hurt me. The time I spent on the road traveling to sing with my church could have been time I spent on the road going home to see my dad. Holidays I missed because we had a service should have been holidays I spent at home with my dad. I had decided I was walking away from God, my church, and singing. Because what was I serving for? What was I fasting and praying for? What was I worshipping for? For God not to hear my prayers? To continue to suffer through mental anguish in the name of "servant leadership"?
But I didn't walk away. I stayed with God and kept singing, and I serve at my church to the best of my ability. I decided that I didn't want to know what life was like without God. Singing isn't a gift I get to decide when to pick it up or put it down. To serve God and use the voice He gave me to touch the lives of people, I went back to church. But believe me, I laid boundaries and I fight to keep those boundaries in place.
I was angry that the timelines of other people just kept going when my daddy's stopped. I would open up Facebook and be angry that people were just... living life. Going on vacations, going shopping, going out to dinner... Just making plans and living. My daddy had plans. He had things he wanted to do. Places he wanted to go. My parents were planning to retire together in a few years, and travel. He had plans for the next day to take his tithes to the church. He wasn't ready to go, but time stopped for him. And time stopped for me. My whole world stopped. I was angry that everyone else's world didn't stop. I was angry that people were going back to work and just living... I remember thinking, "no, everyone just stop! Sit down. Don't you know my dad just died?! Stop and sit with me in this grief!"
So no, time has not healed me. Time has hurt me.
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