The Cruelty of Time

The idea of time becomes more profound when death comes to mind. After my father died, I began to think a lot about death. I used to think that death meant growing old or deteriorating as the years went by. But when I got sober, it became all about getting my life back. I found magic in the mundane and learned to be grateful for little things. I realized that I had cheated death in my addiction and became grateful for life. Death was the furthest thing from my mind.

I used to say things like “live every day like it’s your last!” But I didn’t understand what that meant until now. The clock is always ticking, and change is the only constant. It can be comforting for some and frightening for others. I’m terrified that we don’t know much about the future. Drinking and using drugs for years may not take a person’s life, but a sudden and random cardiac event may rob them of their life.

Moreover, time seems cruel in the wake of grief. When someone you love dies, it feels like time stops. But time never stops. It continues for everyone and everything. While I cried because my dad’s heart gave out suddenly, my son’s heart was beating strongly inside my uterus. So, while time felt like it stopped when my dad died, two months later, I gave birth to my son and became a mother. Time did that.

Now, almost five months postpartum, I still feel paralyzed by time. The passing of time is a reminder that I am still here, and my dad is not. It’s a reminder that milestones and holidays come and go, and my dad won’t be here to celebrate, text me, call me, or help me. At the same time, the passing of time is a gift that means my son is growing and thriving.

This week, I turned 36 years old. As a Gemini, I’m usually excited to celebrate my birthday, but not this year. This birthday was another reminder that time is marching forward without my dad. It was another reminder that he wasn’t here to celebrate with me. And it was another reminder that I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here or how many more birthdays I’ll have.

Grief sometimes catapults people into taking control of their lives, using it to make something of themselves, and leaving something behind. I want to feel that way too, but right now, it feels like I’m slowly riding a wave that’s navigating shallow waters.

I’m angry at time, but I’m also blessed by it. Time is something we all wish we could have more of, stop, or travel back in. My therapist tells me to think of this time as a season of my life. It’s a bit sadder and harder to be in, but it won’t last forever. But I find it difficult to do that. I don’t know if I can think of life in seasons anymore when it could be over tomorrow.

Thinking about my life and how it will end has been a challenging aspect of grief and the postpartum period. Although it may be morbid, it’s normal, and I’m working on acceptance. I often wonder what life will be like a year from now and if I’ll look back and think, “That was painful.” And I think that’s my way of finding hope during this time