They say time heals all wounds.
Yet, time passes, and this wound continues to bleed.
I read somewhere healing is ugly. If this is healing, then the author was right.
People tell me not to cry, so I swallow my tears and add them to the well located somewhere between my throat and heart.
I’ve heard this pain described as a hole. It feels more like a bottomless pit.
I went swimming in the “hole” today. It was just as cold as last night.
They say time heals all wounds. Yet, 28 years, three months, and three days later, I still don’t know what that means.
I often wonder what healing is. It’s tossed around in conversation so easily. Ask me to define it though, and I could only point to a place located somewhere between my throat and heart.
They say grieving is part of the process, but how does one grieve a hole?
I tried to plug it with pages from my journal, but the paper disintegrated and left the words. They floated up and lodged themselves between my vocal folds.
I don’t want to go swimming in the hole tonight. I’d much rather do something else.
A teacher once told me there’s beauty in sadness. I wonder if she’s ever seen the hole.
I close my eyes for a moment and try to find stillness. Instead, I say hello to the bottomless pit. This time though, I stop swimming. I float back to the top and look up at the sun and smile. I realize my teacher was right. What a gift to be able to go swimming in the hole.
Healing may take more time, but I’m willing to wait if it means receiving gifts from this wound.