Is time really the greatest healer?

When embarking on my blog-writing journey I was warned this would happen. I was told that there would be a time when suddenly the writing would cease; that the material I have swimming around my brain would stop and my creative flow would vanish. Those who told me this were spot on.

Why have I been so quiet? Well, the answer is simple really. I am happy and content. My little blended unit is happy and content too. Yes, we have had the challenges of lockdown and I suppose, when I get a chance to reflect on it I’ll get hammering at the keys again. That blog will come. It is inevitable.

But there was one thing recently that meant I had to write again. I had to get my feelings down in written form. They say time is the biggest healer. Well, I am not so sure. Sometimes time can conjure more questions rather than provide a sense of closure, particularly for my boy.

Healing A Broken Boy

Underneath the window on a hot July day sat my son. His mother had just beckoned him into the front room, taking him away from his toy cars. Sunlight poured into the room from outside, with dust dancing in its rays, putting my son underneath a spotlight. The scene was set. And then she told him.