Time is really throwing me, because it felt like I could just step back into his room, and he’d be there, and I could scoop him up and love on him, feeling his chubby fingers in mine, his hot breath on my neck, his chubby cheeks alongside mine… that’s not true, not even in the slightest, but my heart doesn’t know that, but it felt like I could, and I desperately wanted to somehow step back into a time and space where he exists.
But there aren’t magic time travelling doors that would allow me to be with my son. That’s not a thing. Instead time doesn’t care about me or my heart. Time just goes forward, and drags you with it. The sun rises and the earth spins and the sun sets, and the earth just takes you forward whether you want to go or not.
The sun set on the day he died, and then rose the next day. And again on the day we buried him. And on his birthday, when I lay down a blanket of flowers on his grave. And today, when we went back to the place he died. And it will tomorrow, and every day forward.
I’ve since come to realise that it’s not about carrying my grief, about *doing* something to make it easier, to ease this. It’s about endurance. About accepting that the sun did rise today, and holding tight until sun sets (and the reverse, too; from sunset to sunrise). It’s about getting from breath to breath. And this my new forever.
(I hate it, obviously. Living without my boy is agony).
Anyway. If you find a magic time travelling door, let me know, because I really want to go back. (Don’t come for me, I know time only goes forward but my heart is broken, so…) from Instagram: https://instagr.am/p/DBMSaS5oknw/
