Time Does Not Heal Everything

By Maryam Fawzi 

Senior English Editor

It’s been two years since we lost you and I still remember that day like it was yesterday.

I’m still in denial. And I’m also still in pain; I have been for two years. I still think about everything I did wrong and whether or not you actually knew how much I loved you.

I had to find out three days after you passed away and I missed your funeral. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for your family. But I’m also sorry for a lot more than that, because at least that part wasn’t really under my control.

I’m sorry I didn’t hug you the last time I ever saw you because I was in the driver’s seat and you told me to leave after dropping you off. I should’ve gotten out of my car nonetheless.

I’m sorry I never visited or even knew the exact location of your house until it was too late. Yet you always visited and made sure you brought along the food you knew my sister and I loved. You were the only family member who actually visited when my parents weren’t here.

I’m sorry I never truly showed you how much I appreciated you and how much you meant to me. I’m sorry I never called, even though you didn’t care and always called me anyway.

I’m sorry I spent some days choosing to go out with my friends instead of spending them with you.

Losing you has not gotten easier and I don’t think it ever will. I still cannot drive past that graveyard on my way home without tears in my eyes, praying for you. I have to pretend that I am not crying on the phone every single time I call your wife or after I visit. I still cry myself to sleep sometimes thinking about you. And I’m bawling just writing about this.

Because getting over the death of someone as admired and loved as you cannot possibly be an easy task.

I will always remember how cheerful you were, how caring you were and how utterly kind you were.

No matter how old I grew, you would still lift me into a hug and make me sit in your lap. I always felt like your little girl.

You spent your life being proud of my sisters and me – for anything at all. You didn’t care what the achievement was, just that it was us who did it.

And now I’m writing all this down, but I should’ve told you when you were still here, because you deserved to know how great you were. And while I didn’t do a very good job of showing it, I hope you knew how much I genuinely loved you.

There’s no guarantee that time heals everything, but it feels like society pressures us to pretend like it does. Like we’re expected to just be okay and move on, even if we can’t.

It feels like it stops being socially acceptable to talk about something that hurt you after a while because it happened too long ago, and once our imaginary time quota has expired, we’re not supposed to still be affected by that pain.

But I still want to talk about you. I still want to share my feelings with everyone that will listen because I failed to do that with you.

Because 3ammo, I will spend the rest of my life missing you.