Since D-day one of the things I struggle with is time.
The idea of time.
Counting the number of times.
The word “time”.
Too much time.
Too little time.
Let me explain.
When I have too much free time (such as at work) I find myself online searching for MistiCutie. What I’d do if I ever found her I don’t know, but I still search. Or if I’m not searching for MistiCutie my mind is wandering & I’m trying to figure out of Hub really loves me. Which leads to “I can’t believe what he did”. Which leads to tears.
When I have too little down time I begin to feel overwhelmed with the daily tasks of life while trying to balance my emotional/mental state of affair recovery. And then I crash & burn. A mental & emotional meltdown occurs. Enter tears.
When the number of times something has been done or said comes up…well…that presents another problem. For instance, when Hub mentions how many times we have probably had sex in the past 22 years…well, immediately my mind goes to “well – you’ve had sex more than I have”. Ugh. Why can’t I escape this?
Number of times also adds up to years. When people ask how long have you been married, what they are really asking is what is the length of time you have been married. Many people asked me that question over the past couple weeks. And as I answered the question to one gentleman in particular, he replied with “you’re supposed to smile when you say that”. Really? I am? Because celebrating anniversaries doesn’t mean much to me right now. It simply means I’ve managed survive a heartache, that hurts so much it’s actually physical, for another 365 days. Is that worth celebrating? Shouldn’t celebrations be based on more than shear survival?
The word “time” by itself is no problem. It’s when it’s combined with the idea of time. There’s an old phrase we’ve all heard: “time heals all wounds”. It actually sounds nice that the passage of time can remove the pain. After all – isn’t that what healing is? Dictionary.com says healing is “
We look to Him to be the healer of our hurts. And honestly, there have been days when I have wondered when that healing will come. And what it will look like. Because, seriously – this is taking much longer than I would like for it to. Too much time.
There have been days when I’ve wanted to give up. Because it is taking so much time. Not that I’ve wanted to end my life…I just haven’t wanted to live. I haven’t wanted to walk forward one more step. I’ve been tired. Too tired to cross that “finish line”. But I do. I have kids that need me. And – I won’t go down like that. Not without a fight. Because I am a fighter. I’ve always crossed the finish line. Every single time. And this time won’t be different.
It always comes back to time.