Grief

As I prepare for bed (finally), I realize that the statement, "Time heals all wounds" is an utter lie.

Time does not heal all wounds. Some wounds are so deep and paralyzing that time can only band-aid them; underneath they are still raw and oozing and will be that way forever.

This is true of my grandmother's death. True, I don't think of her by the minute, or even by the day as I did immediately after her death. Sometimes I feel guilty about that, but then I comfort myself with the thought that such is a natural part of the healing process.

But tonight I realize that maybe I stopped thinking of her all the time on purpose, for my own sanity. That grief is so still so raw and fresh--it comes out at unexpected times, in a rush of emotion so powerful it startles me. It startled my dog. One minute I was writing her a haiku, and the next...with the thought of all the time that would most likely pass before I could see her again, and knowing even THAT isn't promised to me (for she is surely in heaven and I can only aspire to go there)...well, it seemed like an eternity of longing and loneliness was all that was waiting. It was several minutes before I stopped sobbing, stopped gasping for breath. My dog came to check on me, perhaps even to comfort me. It was very appreciated.

So apparently time can be healing, but it is also cruel and deceptive.

To Goon-Goon: Thank you for trying to send some money my way by making tonight's lottery number your birthday and my birthday intertwined. I knew earlier today that you were trying to send me a message when my right hand began to itch (my "money's on the way" sign), and on your birthday to boot, but stupid me got distracted and never made it to the store, despite telling Mom I was going to play. You know I rarely play the lottery. I'm not sure I would have played 5-7-1 anyway--I usually forget to do birthdays. Sadly I didn't inherit the family knack for luck with lotteries! I would have probably done 5-0-7, your birthday and the day's date, of course. It's the thought that counts though. Maybe next year. Love, Goongie.