Time
On this exact day 11 years ago — Tuesday, November 29, 2011 — my beloved father died.
His death is the most traumatic experience of my life.
My father died tragically — only 2 months after a diagnosis of stage 4 pancreatic cancer,
and just 2 days before his first grandchild’s, my son’s, 1st birthday.
A decade+ has elapsed since that devastating day.
My life has continued forward.
But his death left a deep wound — a wound that will never fully heal.
Grief, despite being a global experience, is in many ways, a lonely journey.
No one else can fully comprehend another’s loss,
and how one integrates that loss.
Many believe that time heals all wounds —that the pain of losing a loved one lessens with time.
The pain does not necessarily lessen.
It ebbs and flows.
And it changes form.
There are moments when the pain is raw.
And moments when the pain is a dull ache — an echo of when life became marked by a “before” and an “after.”
I recently read a quote that resonated deeply with me:
“The older I get, the more I realize that time doesn’t heal all wounds. There will be things in life that will always hurt or be tender. I am releasing the idea that I must get over things to find happiness. I can be happy and still have some things in my life that hurt.”
— Alex Elle
The loss of my father will always hurt.
Alex Elle’s words are a validation for me.
They confirm that I can live my life fully in the absence of my father’s physical presence,
but I can also consistently feel the pain of losing him.
I miss my father in new and different ways as time marches on.
My family and I recently moved, and leaving our home of nearly 14 years to create a new one was another chapter in the integration of my father’s absence.
I felt a deep sadness that he would never know my new home.
I also felt a sense of loss that I cannot look at my new home and have reminders of his presence.
He was never here.
This is the reality of grief and loss — they remain.
My pain does not eclipse my joy.
I experience both.
But I will always feel the ache of the wound created when breath left my father.
I wish he and my son could know each other.
I wish he could read my book, my essays, listen to my podcast interviews.
I wish he could have grown older with my mother.
I wish the universe had given him — and all of us — more time.
But it did not, and as I continue to live my life as a fatherless daughter,
I will honor the truth of my experience since his death.
Time does not heal all wounds.
Time changes all wounds.
