A year. 12 months. 365 days.
There is a person out there, somewhere, who should get credited for coining the phrase “time heals all wounds.” It’s interesting, isn’t is, that everyone has heard it, but no one actually knows who said it. I wish I knew where this phrase originated, because he’d be getting a swift sack in the sack from me. Because if there’s one thing I know, time does not, in fact, heal all wounds. Because I am hurting for my friends today with the same pain I was hurting for them 365 days ago.
Not a day goes by where I don’t think of that little girl. When I see someone wearing purple, I smile and think that Maddie really did make that color more beautiful. When I work out, I wear my March for Maddie shirt, and I push a little bit harder. When I hear All the Single Ladies, I know that no one will ever dance it better than Maddie did. When Isabella and I read Madeline, she always – without fail – looks up and me and says, “just like our Maddie.” When I click over to Heather’s flickr every morning for my daily dose of baby Annabel pictures, I think about how much Maddie would have loved her baby sister. When I see my twitter stream filled with purple avatars, I think of a community that loved and will continue to love a little girl that many of us never got the chance to meet.
It just isn’t fair.
Time just doesn’t fucking heals all wounds. The wound is there, on our hearts, in our hearts, forever. As is her lovely smile and contagious laugh.
Today I wear my purple and celebrate this amazing little lady.
Tomorrow I will be giving a little money to Friends of Maddie.
*Lifted from Bon Iver, hope they don’t mind.