Measuring Time

PREFACE: I feel like this kind of stuff is really under-discussed in this world. In our bandaid society, it’s my opinion that it is so important to really be open and honest about loss and it’s associated emotions instead of working to keep up appearances. I am human and there are times that I hurt and writing about it is part of my healing. Since you are also human (unless some adorable doggos have learned to read and are hanging out in my corner of the internet *swoon*) you may have found yourself in a position similar to this and I hope that me sharing my stories helps you or someone you know. I want you to know that their is strength in the struggle and the world needs you and your story. Let’s get to it then, shall we?

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How do you measure time passing? How would you measure a year? In heart beats? Tears? Missed moments? Birthdays, holidays? Maybe you measure in laughs. Maybe it’s a combination of all those things and more.

It’s crazy to me that an entire year has passed. Birthdays, anniversaries, soccer games, Christmas concerts and dance recitals. Elementary school graduations, high school beginnings. As each new milestone comes and goes, I’ve picked up the phone and dialed your number countless times. It’s a reflexive habit that I can’t seem to break or reprogram. Most times I’m not even aware that I’ve done it until I get the recording that tells me your number was disconnected. Then I’m brought back into that moment, remembering that I’m the one that made the call to turn off all those services and I tried so hard not to let the guy on the other end of the phone know I was crying. I feel the familiar burn of tears. My breath catches and I roll with the wave. I’ve learned that the only way to heal is to feel the things and give them the time they need. There is no timeline, no schedule of events. No ability to predict when grief will strike again. When we make these soul contracts to love one another we accept that the price of this great love will be deep grief.

Sometimes when it’s quiet, I close my eyes and see all the things we used to do. Our time together was so colourful and vibrant and full of life. The memories are so vivid and real, I can feel the sun on my skin, smell the summer around us. I smile and I can hear us laughing. I remember back to those summers in Devon when we’d sit on the deck, reading books and magazines while Papa and Topher roamed through the bush looking for golf balls. I remember meeting up with you in Kelowna and Vegas. I remember the road trips in the motorhome. I remember picking you up to go shopping, for lunch or to doctors appointments. The memories play like movies. I am so grateful for every single moment I had with you and Papa. Truth be told, I always wish for just one more.

I’ve seen you, heard you, gotten some of your messages. I used to call the things I’ve experienced coincidences. I know now that if I pay attention, you are everywhere. I am still working on being in all my moments, even the hard ones. We can call it a work in progress. 

I’ve spent a lot of time going through everything that happened in those last 2 months. The words, actions, decisions, sounds. The doctors, nurses, visitors. Appointments, surgeries, scans, transfusions. All of it. Over and over and over again in every possible direction. Trying to figure out where it all went so sideways. What the hell did I miss? What could I possibly have done differently? I’ve been working on accepting that it was all outside my realm of control, but control isn’t real. You know that I fought for you and every single thing you wanted right up to the end of your time in this life.

In the last year, I’ve heard a lot of different things said about those 2 months. A lot mentioned about everything leading up to the final chapter of this story. I’ve been questioned a lot about the choices that were made. It’s fascinating to hear the incredibly different interpretations of it all. Each person remembers it quite differently. Who’s to say who’s wrong and who’s right? I suppose the version people remember best is the one that they can live with. When all is said and done, the only person one needs to be able to face is themselves.

I’ve been asked a few times what I may have said or done differently if I knew it would be the last time. What I know for sure is that this question brings up a lot of different feelings, good and not so good. The next time this question comes to mind, I want to encourage people everywhere to use it as a lesson. Learn to live and love differently now so that, when asked, they can say “Absolutely nothing.” When I think about all that happened, I know I was exactly where I needed to be: I was with you.

The truth of the matter is that we will never know that it was the last time for something until it’s already passed. The important people in my heart will never question my love or dedication to them because I make sure they know. And the reminder most folks really need NOW is that it’s not about the huge moments, the big gestures or sweeping declarations. It’s all the little stuff in the in-between. The hugs, the “I love you’s”, the notes in lunch boxes. Recording a show for someone because you know they love it. The text message or phone call that always comes at the right time. A just-because card in the mail. There are so many ways to share love with the world and the people in it. It’s so very easy to make a difference in someone’s day. But it’s also very easy not to.

As it does, life keeps moving forward. I miss you. I miss the space you took up. I miss your presence. I miss hearing your voice, your laugh. If I would have known it was going to be our last day together, I would have taken more pictures of and with you. I would have recorded videos so I could hear your voice forever. I would have crawled up into that bed with you to snuggle. That time is something I will always cherish.

Miss you xo