Time is my arch nemesis. Time is my finicky friend. Sometimes, I wish I could stop the passing days, temporarily freeze the ticking of the clock. Other days, I wish I could speed up the draining hours, fast forward to a new phase of life.
I felt this way even before I lost William, but now Time and I have a new relationship. We are engaged in a never-ending tug-of-war — Time and I. Sometimes Time seems to be winning the battle. I see Time yanking the line on the tug-of-war rope closer and closer, inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter. But then I suddenly regain my footing and the line is creeping closer to me.
Time gains the upper hand at least once per month. When I feel the cramps, then see the blood that marks my monthly cycle, I am reminded that my body has failed me yet again. Time’s warnings slink their way into my mind. I’m not getting younger. I’m 33. The older I get, the harder it is going to be to conceive a living, healthful child. I hate Time for its limitations. I despise Time for causing anxiety-provoking thoughts. I hate Time for speeding ahead without regard for the lives it leaves behind.
I also hate that others think the passage of Time will somehow make me miss my son less. There are still days when I cry in the shower or on my drive to work in the mornings. Time has not stopped my heart from breaking at certain phrases, at some situations. Time will never allow me to go back to the person I was before William was born.
But Time has allowed me to adapt. Time’s best trait is that it gives me the chance to change and grow with it. While Time does not make things better, it does give me the space I need to figure out how to proceed with my new life. Time doesn’t demand things from me, but allows me to grow and heal on my terms.
I imagine that Time may work in the same way for a person who loses a limb. The person will never grow the limb back. I will never be reunited with my son on Earth. But, as Time progresses, the person learns how to walk with only one leg or tie a shoe with only one hand. I’m starting to learn how to live without my son. I’m beginning to find ways to honor his memory. Much as the person who lost the limb will always long for its return, I will forever wish that I could be watching my son grow. But like the person who lost the limb, I will figure out a way to survive in a world without his physical presence.
Time has helped me see that I can heal my aching heart through writing and by talking with other mothers who understand my pain. I can share my son with the world and ensure that his memory is kept alive throughout my time on Earth. Time is my friend because it has given me glimpses of hope and has helped me see past the blinding pain that clutched me in its firm grasp in the months following William’s birth.
Without expectation or hurry, Time’s passage has given me the voice and strength to continue living a life that honors my son.
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