Tender

Tender

Time will heal, that’s what they say.
And yet the scar remains to this very day,
a thin white line and still tender to the touch.

It was no help to have an allergic reaction
to the Mercurochrome so that my skin scabbed over
and I had to do my presentation in class
with crustiness exposed because the bandage
would not allow air to reach the wound
so it could heal.

I was in the third grade
when I survived the head-on collision
with one of my classmates. The scar remains
to this very day, underneath my chin,
a thin white line and still tender to the touch.
Time will heal, that’s what they say.
But didn’t Jacob walk with a limp after wrestling with the angel?

Do not say to the crying mother:
Time will heal.

Do not say to the neglected child:
Time will heal.

Do not say it at all:
Time will heal.

Time will not heal. Time surges forward.
It may wash away much of the detritus,
but always there will remain
a thin white line, still tender to the touch.



Thankfully, I have never had anyone offer me this useless piece of rhetoric. I overheard this a couple of weeks ago, spoken by a grandfather in reference to his grandsons who had been put into his custody after being removed from a home with an abusive step parent and parent. I knw he meant well, it just makes me think, that's all.

I believe time will make it easier, but there will always be the tender places. I liken it to grief. My brother has been dead for eleven years and I am used to it now. This week I met another person who has his name, and is about the age he was when he died. And the grief comes whispering back to me. It is not as intense as it was, and it does not linger as long as it used to, but it is still there and a part of me.

So many times, when we see someone who is hurting, we want to do what we can to help them, we want to take their pain away. Often, the most healing thing we can do for them is to listen quietly.

(There is another silly short poem in the comments to the post before this one if anyone is interested.)