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As time passes

Grieving, I have come to realize, is not just hard, it is hard work.

Written by Connie Small, December 21, 2000

I feel with each passing day, that I am being moved farther and farther away from the reality that was you. I am being moved, against my will, against my wishes, towards the inevitable that is the reality that is you now. I fight every inch of the way.

Grieving, I have come to realize, is not just hard, it is hard work. I feel as though I have been studying for the hardest test of my life. I also feel as if I'm not going to pass. My brain refuses to stop, for even an instant. My heart gives no respite from my pain. I feel that gravity has doubled just for me, until my shoulders are so stooped, I struggle to breathe. I feel the sadness that must be etched forever onto my face. Living, what I once took for granted, is harder than it has ever been. If only my mind would cease it's relentless torture of thoughts. If the memories and imaginings would stop but for one moment to allow me a tiny bit of peace. But, that doesn't happen.

I find myself sleeping more and more, unwilling to waken to my sorrow. Maybe it's true, what you believed about death being the same state as sleeping. All I know is, I wish I could sleep and never wake up. It isn't a death wish. It's just that sleeping is so much easier to bear than being awake and aware of my new life. Even though the dreams come when I sleep, my subconscious mind seems to understand, they are not real, they will not hurt me. Unlike my waking hours, which deem to torment every cell of my being. I truly feel I have gone insane with grief. I see no end in sight. The promise of remission, that time was to have given me, has not appeared. Instead, the pain grows deeper each day I awaken.

Time was to be my friend that I welcomed with open arms. It held a glimmer of hope, of somehow living through this pain. It has become my enemy. It slows to the point that I know it has stopped. Only for me. While the rest of the world continues, my world stands still, pain washing over me in the form of memories and imaginings.

Never have I wished as hard as I do now, for time to fly.