Time is Cruel

"Time heals all wounds." "It will get better with time."

I've heard these words about the passage of time numerous times since Dustin died. In a way they are true because certainly I don't cry as often as I used to, I'm not caught as unawares by triggering events or words or songs or whatever. And when these things do happen, I've learned better how to deal with them so they are not as disruptive and upsetting (for the most part). But what has surprised me is the resistance I feel to allowing time to be a good thing. 

The first happiest day of my life: 11/11/82

What is more important to us than our own child? How can I even conceive of wanting to be healed of missing him, of mourning the loss of his life not only for me and others, but for him? The thought of allowing it to "get better with time" fills me with guilt because the only way I can imagine that happening is if he becomes less important to me. I can never let my child become less important to me! What kind of mother would I be?

So the passing of time fills me with dread. What it really means to me is that it is just that much longer that I haven't seen him, talked to him, heard him say "I love you, Mom." It just increases the distance between us and at times, like now, it makes me wonder how I can survive how agonizing that is. He isn't just on a trip or living across the country or even the world; I can't contact him in any way. There are just nothing but memories and pictures anymore.

Maybe time makes some things easier; I've experienced that myself. But now, time has never seemed more cruel.