It’s a funny thing about anniversaries. They mark significant events. They call to mind moments of relevance. Mostly good. Some not.
Today’s anniversary is one I wish was not on my calendar. It’s been three years now since Makenzie’s last sunset, her last phone call, her last text. It’s been three years since Kellie and I frantically drove to the hospital to learn that our beautiful ballerina had been killed. Three years since we, as a family, melted together in sorrow and wept at the foot of our Lord. Has it been that long?
Time is a funny character. It changes you and lets you be. It catches up with us and doesn’t leave us alone. In it’s ruthlessly redundant clutches, it does not give us itself to heal but chides from a few steps ahead to keep moving. Such is the way the three years have gone. While we have not wanted to leave that June 3rd date, Time has called us forward – not changing the ache, but diminishing the pain. I love what my mother wrote us a few days back:
“They are wrong….Time does not heal….it just helps you to live with the loss.”
So if that is the gift that Time has given, so be it. However, I can still hear her voice in the ears of my soul. I can still see her skipping with the eyes of my heart. And I so desperately want my eternal eternity to be here so that all of us can dance again, together. By God’s Grace in Jesus, I will do that. And then, Time will have no power and will have simply … stopped.
But until then – sleep well, my dearest Makenzie. sleep well.