Time isn't a healer.

I experienced something this summer I’ve never known.

When June passed and July blew by full of summer sports, 4-H and a few trips South to visit family I didn’t notice it; but in August as I looked at calendars and got schedules straight it hit me square on… 

I was dreading September. I was scared of a month. A word. An event. September carries a stigma, frankly my first thought when I realized that was anger. I did not want it to be marred, I didn’t have anything to be sad about. What happened in September 2017 didn’t end the story. It made a different one.

I think it’s because it’s all finally sinking in. When you’re in the heat of a moment it all goes by so fast. It’s a whirlwind, quite literally it feels like you’re drinking from a fire hose. You can’t see, you can’t breathe. You just trust that putting one foot in front of the other will get you through it. And it does. The world goes on. The sun will set on one day and rise with the next. Time marches...

Another bit of the dread might also have been the fear of a repeat. I know that’s silly. September 24th is not going to be the day that something always goes wrong. But I’d be lying if I told you my mind didn’t go there. Truth be told, if I could skip the date I would.

 All I know is this: memories are very real and the dates they happen can be forever stamped into our minds.

The good ones and the bad. Events happen and they forever change you. And those dates never leave. Maybe it’s the good dates; your marriage, the birth of your children, brothers, nieces and nephews. Or maybe it’s the bad. And before all of this - before my mom survived and literally rose out of the flames - I would’ve told you time heals those bad dates. But it doesn’t. Time makes you dread them. It makes you relive them, think through what could of, would of or should of been. Even if the outcome turned out okay, time takes you right back to the day. Every year. Over and over. The lesson for me is that you need to be compassionate in grief. Time keeps reminding those who have lost, it does not heal them. That’s a good lesson for me, I’m a pick yourself up from the boot straps kind of girl. There’s not time to wallow in pity parties here folks! We’ve got things to do, places to go, stuff to fix. Yep, I needed this lesson.

I did not lose my mom on September 24, 2017. I prepared myself to lose her. For many weeks I refused to have hope that she would survive, because it felt like I was setting myself up for disappointment. We feel incredibly lucky she’s here with us. God didn’t need her yet - that’s all I can come up with - because her body sure looked like it needed far more healing than this Earth could provide. Instead, medical professionals, my brothers, family, friends, neighbors and colleagues watched her fight through a living hell and return to us one piece at a time. There were days, in the early weeks I prayed for her pain to go away. I asked God to take her, I knew my pain in loosing her would certainly be minor compared to the pain she was experiencing. She begged too. But now, as 365 days approach, I see the strongest person I know standing, driving, making black berry cobbler and watching her grandson’s first band concert. We will celebrate each extra day we get with her. Because it’s just that special.