...and ultimately we move on, because there is no other option. There is no choice. There never was. You cannot go back and you cannot stand still. You are pushed, pulled, drawn forward. Sometimes life seems a conveyer belt. Sometimes a treadmill.
I deliberately didn't comment on the one-month anniversary of Lionel's death, or the one-month anniversary of his funeral. Both milestones that have recently passed. I didn't really want to begin that way of marking time, one month...six months...a year.
Seconds at a time now, the days are growing inexorably longer. It's still barely perceptible and difficult to believe (especially as cold and dark as it is outside my office window at this moment) but the season is changing. Eventually, sunshine and budding trees, grass and flowers will emerge but, for the first time, I feel ambivalent about springs renewal.
Time passes. Relentlessly. And, like a surging tide, that passage carries me further and further from what was. Further and further from when my reality was him, on the journey beside me. And although I continue along accompanied by many loved ones, in a certain, perverse, particular sense...I continue alone. The space beside me is now empty.
And that, acute, loss...is an ache against which, I suspect, not even omnipotent time can prevail.
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