Does Time Heal All Wounds?

"Grief changes us the pain sculpts us into someone who understands more deeply hurts more often appreciates more quickly cries more easily hopes more desperately loves more openly." –Author Unknown 

I am not an expert on grief and loss by any means. My greatest teacher has been my own life experiences, and with the help of online courses and through much self-awareness, the main takeaway for me now is this: grief has to be endured; loss has to be mourned, not cured.

We live in a fast-paced, quick-fix society that (by its very nature) prompts us to survive and press on after a loss, to put grief on a time schedule, but grief calls us to sit in the ebbs and flow of our wound, to surrender to it, to feel sad or angry or confused or guilty... 

I think most of us feel a certain level of discomfort and awkwardness when face-to-face with a bereaved person. As well-meaning people, we feel the need to at least say something, and so we pull out the old adage "time heals all wounds" in hopes of offering some support and comfort or in hopes of filling the silent void. 

But rarely does "time heals all wounds" have the intended outcome, especially in the rawness of grief, when one's life is so hazy. Saying I am sorry for your loss or simply being there with a reassuring hug or a listening ear is often enough to show we care. 

After the sudden loss of my mother thirty-three years ago, to say that I was in the throes of grief is an understatement. At the age of twenty-eight, a mother to two young children then ages four years and six months, my mother's death not only left an indelible mark on my psyche, but it forever changed me. I'd no roadmap or guidebook to help me figure out how to put my life back together for my children. I just got up each day and put one foot in front of the other.

"Time heals all wounds, Joyce," I was repeatedly told. And even though I believed the sentiment to be true because — if nothing else — it gave me hope that my grief would dissipate with time, that time would heal the gigantic hole in my heart, time didn't hold up its end of the bargain. 

Time passed, and days turned into weeks and months and even years, but instead of feeling better, instead of "time" healing me, I often found myself cast adrift in a sea of grief, kicking with all my might to stay afloat, as the waves steadily tried to devour me. 

  

In retrospect, time isn't meant to be an antidote for grief. Time is merely a "mourning period" to help navigate the choppy waters ahead, allowing us to find the inner strength to live within our new reality, with life forever altered.

In essence, time didn't heal me, but it did lead me to a healing God and my truest self.

However, the answer to the question, "Does time heal all wounds?" truly lies in the heart of the bereaved. Why? Because just as we are ALL unique, so too is our grief journey.

Finding the Rainbow in Grief

Just as the many faces of grief represent some of life's darkest hours, for me, a rainbow is a symbolic reminder of how God's light pierces through the darkness and offers hope beyond the storm.

Do you know there are ultraviolet and infrared light/colors present in a rainbow? But the naked eye can only pick up the seven colors of the spectrum: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, and Violet.

Let's assume the vibrant colors of the rainbow symbolically express the layers of beauty life has to offer, and the colors not seen represent the segments of adversity we face. After all, life isn't always beautiful. There are periods of time when it can be cruel and littered with hardships, and losing a loved one is one such hardship.

Those of us who have walked (or who are walking) through the valley of grief, know it's impossible to see anything colorful in the rawness of grief. We find it hard to believe there will be better days, brighter days ahead.

And while there's no timeline for grief—life, however, cannot go forward until the storm within us begins to subside. Only then will the rainbows vibrant colors slowly filter back into our lives. No doubt we will see them in a different light, but through perseverance and God's guidance, the hurtful memories will fade, and we will find a pot of gold within the treasured memories of our loved one.

I know this to be true in my own life. I will never forget the dreaded phone call that forever changed me. Losing my mom of 56 years to a massive heart attack (in August of 1987) plunged me into a dark place, where grief virtually took me down an unhealthy road toward a mental breakdown.

I couldn't see the beauty of the rainbow anymore. I was being sucked into, what felt like, a whirling vortex, void of color. I tried each day to kick into survival mode, to put one foot in front of the other for my four-year-old daughter and five-month-old son, leaving me little time to give attention to what was, indeed, happening inside my body. There was no checklist to help me navigate through grief, no access to grief resources like we have today. Besides, it was as if grief and depression carried a greater stigma back then—an awkwardness—you might say, which made it even harder to admit that I needed help.

But with hindsight comes perspective: My near breakdown was a breakthrough into the window of my grief, the beginning of my healing process.

In our unique way, we will forever mourn our loved ones. There will always be a part of us that feels sadness over their loss. Having said that, though, as they continue to live on in our heart, we will be able to enjoy the beauty of the rainbow once again—through the many memories we'd shared together.

The Ties That Bind Us

What started out as a night of socializing at a well-known club, a supposed safe zone for gays, ended in tragedy perpetrated by gun violence, but more than that, it was a hate crime against the LGBT community, leaving many lives lost, and survivors forever changed.

Between sadness, fear, and anger this past week, I have been trying to transfer my thoughts into words of support for the families of this horrendous shooting that took place during the early morning hours in Orlando, Florida, on June 12th.

As a parent of a gay child, this hate crime felt like a dagger through my heart. Don’t get me wrong. There have been many fatal crimes against humanity that sent me to my knees, and while this one hit home on a personal note, it doesn’t make it any more or less severe. They all have in common a massacre of innocent lives. The difference for me is that the discrimination against the LGBT community had now escalated into a murderous rampage.

As citizens of the free world, this is not only a time to mourn for the victims and their families, but  a time of solidarity. It’s a time to stand alongside the LGBT community, to acknowledge the real discrimination they still face each day. It’s also a time to rethink the real terrorist threat posed by radicalization, a time for more accountability with regards to gun control. And it’s a time to re-evaluate our stance with regards to supporting old government laws, or, for that matter, the enactment of new ones, which can impede the path of equal rights for all citizens, including the LGBT community.

Since the shootings, I can’t help but wonder if some of the victim’s family members are finding out for the first time their loved one was part of the LGBT community. Or some knew but hadn’t come to terms with his/her sexual orientation, yet.

As someone who has walked this difficult road, I know coming out for our children, unfortunately, (even though it’s better today than it was ten years ago when my daughter came out) still carries a stigma, and it takes time to process. My heart breaks for the people who have now been robbed of this time.

Regretfully, though, we cannot change the events of this terrible night. However, the victim’s lives needn’t be lost in vain. Perhaps in time, if it hasn’t already, it will help estranged family members re-open the dialogue with their LGBT relatives. And perhaps the broader community will continue to step up and become advocates for positive change in the lives of the LGBT community and their families.

Perchance one day, when the grief isn’t so raw, we can look back in remembrance and see how this tragedy is the ties that bind us as one unified community.