What Time Does and Doesn't Do.

It has always seemed so odd to me that people say things like "time heals all wounds." or "give it a year." I get that people truly believe that's helpful, but it's a little crass. I mean, why would you trivialize someone's grief by putting a time limit on it? What about a year is the magic number? I don't get it. I get the good intentions, just not the silly sayings. It's almost like being a foreigner in a new country and hearing slang terms or common phrases and thinking, "What does that even mean?"

I've been finding myself in these gripping moments where the earth seems to stop. For me at least. Everything around me keeps going, and moving. And I just sit still, clutched in sorrow. And it happens so abruptly.

For instance, the other day I was listening to some Pandora playlist and the song "A Thousand Years" came on. Now to the other people sitting close by it might have just been a song from that shitty Twilight movie. But for me that song is too much when I'm not ready for it, and soothes my soul when I need it.  That was the song I danced to with my Father for probably the first time, and most crushingly, the last. My sister had given me the chance at her wedding to dance with my Father since I didn't get to dance with him at mine.
When that song came on at work it paralyzed me. This hole in my heart opened up and consumed me. Swallowed me whole. It took over and made me realize I would never see my Father again. Obviously, I know he's gone. But there are moments where the reality of it almost becomes tangible. Where the pain seems so intense, and so concentrated, that it doesn't even seem like anything this of this world.

When I feel like that it makes me envision my heart as a puzzle. There are all these stunning pieces. All these beautiful memories. So many pieces that fit together to make me who I am. But one is missing. And it's my Dad. Sure there are pieces that are all my memories with him. And the pieces that are filled with my love and respect for him. But the one that's missing is the one that made him here. The one with his body that I could hug. The one with his laugh. His smile. His voice. And where that piece went, is just black. It's a void. And that's what swallows me up when it hits me that he's gone. That one void expands and consumes everything else.

That's why I won't understand why time will fix things. Because my heart, with it's missing piece will never be whole. It will always have a void. Time isn't going to take the shape of my Father and fill that in. Nothing will. That piece is irreplaceable. So no, a year will not (and most certainly did not) make things better. Time will not make things better. I will always have those moments where that void takes over, because I will never get to hug my Dad again. I will never say something that makes him laugh to the point of tears. I will never hear him call me curly again. I will not get to make any more memories with him. I have to hold on to the one's I have. So, fuck time. Because time is what's keeping me from seeing him again.