Every kind of wound has a different healing process. You can
do a head-first flip of your bicycle, on a dirt road, wearing shorts (yes,
experience speaking here!) and your knees will look like something that came
out of a meat grinder. In a few short days, the scratches heal and soon there
is no sign they ever existed. Or, you could decide you're old enough and big
enough to use your father's chainsaw. The resulting gash will be deeper,
bloodier and take longer to heal than the bicycle accident abrasions. You may
even end up with a scar from that one. But probably a scar is all you'll have.
Sometimes a wound isn't as obvious but lasts longer. In high school, I reached
for the right-side handle of set of double doors, using my left hand. Someone
came through the left-side door at the same time, whacking my wrist pretty
hard. It swelled and turned a really nasty shade of indigo-black. It hurt.
Slowly the bruise healed, yet the spot is still tender even all these many,
many years later.
When someone you love dies, whatever the circumstance, it's
a wound that cuts deep. If the death is of an elderly person or someone who has
been ill for a long time, some of the healing process has already begun. As
much as no one wants to think about it or face the truth, we all know our
parents are going to die. My grandmother was 90 when she passed away. Though I
was prepared for the eventuality, it still hurt to lose her but moving on took
less time than losing my brother. His death was a shock. He was 23, full of
life, the future wide open. Then he was gone. In the blink of an eye. As
painful as it was for me, I can only imagine how hard it was for my parents.
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Years pass. You don't "get over it," you "get
on with it" - it being life. The sorrow doesn't go away, you simply learn
how to live with, and often how to compartmentalize, the grief. The agony and
anguish fade to an ache. That doesn't mean you love the person less or that you
don't miss them. It means you are still alive and your brain knows you need to
function whether or not your emotions want to. If you're going through this
now, as a recent or not-too-distant loss, please accept this bit of advice:
don't be afraid to find joy again, it is not a betrayal. My brother had been
growing into the attitude that he was my "big" brother despite being
3 years younger. I know he would want me to be happy. He wouldn't want my
mother to spend her days crying. He would probably have been the kind of uncle
parents hate and kids love (admit it, Billy, you would've been!). He would not
begrudge me a smile or laughter.
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Happy Birthday, Billy!