Is Time a Healer?

The beginning of August is here, and it's so hard to believe that it has been nearly a year since we lost Alma.  Has it really been that long?  Sometimes it seems like just yesterday when I was in the ultrasound room straining to see any sign of movement on the screen.

I've heard people say that time is a healer.  I've said it myself.  Time should heal all wounds, right?

Losing Alma caused this gaping wound.  I keep telling people that yes, time does heal, but then I have also wondered if time will eventually make everything better.  If somehow the wound will magically go away as time goes by.  Realistically, I don't think the wound will "magically" disappear.  The pain has lessened, and a scar is forming where the wound used to be so fresh, but I will always remember the moment I found out my baby boy had died and that I wouldn't get to bring him home.  I will always remember the pain of that moment.  How can anyone be expected to recover quickly from a moment that changed his or her life forever?  I will always wonder what he would be like if he was here.  Whether his hair would still be dark brown or if it would have turned white blonde.  If he has Jayze's hazel eyes, my dark brown eyes, or a pair of shockingly blue eyes.  If he would be tall like Jayze's family or my Mom's side of the family, or if he would be shorter like my Dad's side of the family.  Those questions will always run through my head.  Even now, being pregnant, I wonder what it would be like to be chasing two little boys around, laughing their heads off as they mischievously and knowingly exasperate me.  But for now, all I get to know is what it's like having my firstborn baby boy in heaven and his little brother here with me (I hope) and keep wondering.  People who have lost children say that those same children are still watching over them.  The siblings of that child somehow still have a relationship with the child who is in heaven.  I have been desperately hoping that will happen when we finally get Alma's little brother here.  That they will have a special bond and that this little boy inside me will get to know his older brother through more than just pictures and his story.

Last month on the 29th, I couldn't stop thinking that Alma would be 11 months old.  I didn't think it would affect me very much, because the real landmark is his actual year-birthday, August 29.  But I thought about him all day long.  I came home from work, and I couldn't concentrate on what Jayze was saying.  I just kept staring at him and nodding my head.  In a sudden moment, tears began pooling in my eyes and falling down my face and when Jayze asked me what was wrong, I couldn't get out the words.  I just kept shaking my head.  Finally, I was able to say, "He would have been 11 months old," and then buried my head in my arms and sobbed.

How can I have gone 11 months without holding my little baby boy? 

If the 11-month mark was that hard, I know the year-mark is going to be even harder.  It seems like August 29 is looming, and I'm not sure what to do that day.  It's all such a mix of emotions.  I'm not sure whether or not to celebrate that day or to shut myself in my house and let grief overtake me.  How can I celebrate his birth when at the same time it was his death?

Sometimes time brings hard days, and grief has its victory.

Those hard days are still going to come up.  Time is not going to take those away, and I don't think time will ever change the fact that losing Alma has changed my relationship with Jayze, my relationship with others, the way I feel when I hear of someone who has gone through the exact same thing as me, or the comments I hear from other people who haven't gone through the same thing as me.  Time goes by and life does go on, but the memory remains.

But, as I look back, I do think time has also helped to strengthen my mental, physical, social, spiritual, and personal capacity to deal with this trial.

I can say "stillborn" to strangers without crying anymore. 

I don't cry every day.

I am not on autopilot anymore.

I can look babies in the face again and smile.

I have an appetite now.

Jayze and I, despite everything, are even closer now because of losing Alma.

I don't avoid looking at or walking through the baby section at Walmart anymore.

I can sleep without Alma's baby blue blanket.

I can look back and remember all the earthly angels who helped us out during those dark days.

I know without a doubt that families are forever.

Yes, death has changed so much.  Yet, despite many of the tragic things death brings, it has also let me see what I can do because of it.  It has allowed me to choose to become closer to my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.  Because what I have found is that I am happy.  Not every minute of every day, but I am happier than I was a little less than a year ago.  I can laugh again and not feel guilty because I know Alma doesn't want me to mourn him forever.  He wants me to move forward and live life - to live life in such a way that I will be able to see him again.

I really don't think time is the real healer, but I do think it helps.  God is the real healer.  He uses time to teach me.  

When I read over Alma's story again the other day, I realized that I have forgotten to figure out what I'm supposed to learn from this trial.  Instead, I have been hoping time will go by and that things will just go back to normal and I can be the same as always.  But I know that's not what my Heavenly Father wants.  This life isn't about staying the same - it's about changing and growing and becoming better.  I hope that my wound caused by Alma's death will be a reminder to me to always choose God despite my circumstances and allow Him to change me for the better. 

"Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful part of us."
~David Richo~