Time Heals All Wounds?

The title of this blog is the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard. There are some wounds that time cannot heal.

Every year, I dread the last week of January. I dread it because 18 years ago, January 30, 1991, the love of my life lost his battle with cancer. I dread remembering him telling me he didn't have a fight in him anymore and he just wanted to die. I dread hearing his response to me asking him didn't he want to spend the rest of his life with me and our children, and their children, which was, "No I just want to die now". Those words have stuck in my head since then. I've felt unloveable, inferior, unworthy, etc. Pick any word that you can think of when you realize that someone would rather die, than fight to be with you. I know now that he was in pain and very sick, but knowing this doesn't seem to take away the feelings of not being good enough.

I dread the thought of getting that call at work from the hospital social worker, telling me to come to the hospital immediately. They wouldn't tell me why, but I knew. It was the only day in his fight that I didn't go see him during my lunch because I had to take our tax documents to the accountant. He died alone in his room at 12:14pm. I should have been there, I wasn't, and I've hated myself for it ever since. I dread remembering getting to the hospital first (I worked only a few miles away) and touching his still warm hand, forehead and lips. I dread the feeling of that lifeless hand not holding back. I dreaded having to tell his mother and father, "he's gone". I dread feeling that lump in my throat when I tried to get those two words out. I dread still feeling the weight of his mother in my arms when she collapsed in a heap. I dread remembering the sounds of our sobs, moans, both of us pleading with God. I dread opening my eyes and seeing his father sitting on the floor with his head in his hands, saying, "my boy, my son, my first born". I dread the image of the nurses standing back, but still crying with us.

This week is a week of nothing but dread for me. Time doesn't heal all wounds. There are days and even months that go by and it seems my wounds are healed, but they aren't. This week comes for me and the wounds are gaping, open and raw. They'll never heal.