What is time?
I have no concept of time and it's passage
by Connie Small, February 6, 2001
I continually find it so odd, that for the first time in my life that
I can remember, I have no concept of time and it's passage. Days, months,
even hours and minutes. They all seem the same. Far away or right here.
It all blends together, with only the rising of the sun to let me know,
time has passed. I once based my life on time. I was a slave to it. Hurry,
hurry. Be on time. Don't be late. Go to sleep. Wake up. Eat. Watch TV.
Keep appointments. It was so important, to keep track of time. Since your
death, time is of little importance. I sit and stare for what I believe
to be just a minute or so. I look at the clock and am shocked to discover
an hour or two has gone by. I know how many days, weeks and months have
come and gone, since you left me. Only because the calendar shows with
the turning of pages. Time just doesn't seem to have any meaning or substance.
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The ultrasound picture shows Cassondra during her previous pregnancy,
which unfortunately ended in a miscarriage.
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Today, for the first time since your death, I have made a connection
with time. It has been three months today, since you were taken from me.
I still think it's so unfair, that I didn't get to keep you. Today, I
remembered... You were pregnant for just three months. The time you had
your baby within you, is the time you have now spent with your baby in
heaven. Your baby was taken from you and you thought it unfair. You wanted
to keep it as badly as I wanted to keep you.
Last weekend, Steve brought over the Mom-to-be book you had started filling
out when you found you were pregnant. Tears ran down my face as I read
of your happiness, excitement, hopes and fears. Then I read the last page.
The one you wrote to your baby, as I have been writing to you. You said
how sad you were. How you wished you could have, just once, heard your
child laugh. Or even cry. You wished you could have held them in your
arms and seen their face, if but only one time. You knew that it would
have been wonderful, to be a mommy to your child that you loved so much.
You loved your child as much as I love you. You hoped that one day, you
would meet in heaven and you'd then be able to hold them in your arms.
The three of you, could then be a family at last.
I don't know what heaven will bring. I'm not sure I still believe in
heaven or what heaven is. But if you believed in it enough, to believe
that you and your baby would be together again some day, then I have to
believe it too. Then maybe someday, I'll be with you in heaven too.
I love and miss you, my baby girl. I always will, forever, plus one day.
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