Sometimes I wish I were a boy again, running home to Mum with trousers torn at the knee and underneath, a skinned knee, bleeding like it will never stop. As I run the tears roll down my face, not because of pain although there was some, more about the ‘hiding’ I was going to get when Mum saw my trousers. Knowing what would happen when I reached home did not slow me down because I knew she would fix it; both the trousers and the knee, that overwhelming joy that ran through me because I knew that in a few hours there would be no blood, pain would be fading, my trousers would be mended and I would have been forgiven and cared for again – FIXED.
As I finally walk away from the small grave, with broken heart and a pain that I had not experienced ever before. I wished and wished that I was running home to Mum so that she could fix it… that feeling of knowing, that in a few hours all of it would be fixed, forgiven. Life moving on as if it had never happened. If only. If only. There are times when there are just too few words left to heal us, no actions left that can help us, when what we wish for is to be carried, cared and understood, but all of those around you have no understanding, how could they… just impossible.
All that is left is the hope that tomorrow will be a more gentle place to land than today. I read this somewhere ‘Missing someone gets easier every day because even though it’s one day further from the last time you saw each other, it’s one day closer to the next time you will.’ Of all the times it has been said to me that time is a healer it was not until I read those few words that I started to believe that time is a healer and not the negative, that when said, brings out more guilt because you think time is simply fixing it by allowing you to forget. The passing of time is simply watering down the loss, not the memory, the memory stays rock solid, this way, when you meet again, the wilderness in between will matter not.