In a headcanon that I'm unabashedly dedicated to, Ponyboy wrote an essay about his journey with grief. Here is my idea of what it would've said, albeit less profound than Ponyboy would've written it...
TIME
By: Ponyboy Curtis
Everyone said it would take time. That time, in a sense, would help melt the icy block of sadness that sat in the middle of my chest. I thought it would, too. Or hoped it would, at least. I thought I would wake up one day and no longer be burdened by bitter memories and mistakes; by the words left unsaid and things I could have done different. But time hasn't taken away my hurt. If anything, it has left me broken, with more questions and less answers. My experience with time is that it doesn't take away everything that makes me sad, angry, and confused, but has given me the clarity to navigate my heartbreak.
I've learned that time can stop. When you're rushing into a burning building or at home with your brothers or even under the fluorescent glow of a streetlight in a poor neighborhood. In those moments, time can simply not exist. You beg for the world to continue spinning, to feel anything other than shock and heartbreak, which inevitably begins grief's vicious reign. Time grinds to a halt, then slowly churns into a rhythmic hum of sorrow. It grabs you by your shoulders, as if to say, "Pick up your feet. We have to get going." I think that's the hardest part - learning to live again after losing someone. Picking up the pieces and trying to move forward, because you have to. Time doesn't wait for anyone. I'm not sure which pain is worse: The pain of losing someone, or the pain of realizing life will inevitably go on with or without them.
Time is grief's sidekick. It steals everything from you when you're not looking. I can no longer remember the smell of Johnny's worn out denim jacket or the way Dally would shake his head and hide his smile when one of us said something funny. And I used to be able to close my eyes and imagine that my mom was in the living room watching her favorite soap opera or dad was in the backyard trying to salvage his garden, but it's all bleary now. Even those memories have slipped away from me. My brain searches in every crack and crevice, but I'm losing small details. The only thing left is their absence, which seems to be spread everywhere. How long will it be before time takes every piece of them from me? I used to be able to wrap my arms around their memory, now I'm barely left with a handful.
But time can be good, too. Time is helping me realize that you can't forget love. And love is worth holding onto, not loss. It helps you heal. It's the feeling I get when I think of Johnny's compassion or Dally's selflessness. Or the feeling in my heart when I think of my whole family sitting around the dinner table laughing. Each person leaving me, each taking a piece of myself that I couldn't afford to lose. My sanity, my security, my innocence. Would I sacrifice that love if it meant I didn't have to feel the heartbreak I do now? No, I don't think so. It hurts. God, does it hurt. But it's worth it to be reminded that you were capable of loving someone that much. Time gives you room to think about those things. Time is patient while your brain understands it.
Time has allowed me to accept that I'll never stop mourning the people I've lost, but I can move forward and live without them the best I can. It has made me stop and appreciate the things it kept me around to enjoy. Like my brothers cooking breakfast on the weekends, having real friends that I can count on, or even a good book. I guess, even if I don't realize it, that I'm thankful for that time. It's time that many people aren't lucky enough to get.
People say that time heals all wounds, but that's just not true. If that were the case, I don't think I'd be as broken as I am today. But my best friend once wrote to me, "You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want. There's still lots of good in the world." Now, that, I believe. Time is the only thing that gives you a chance to see what really matters and find the good in life, despite the cards you're dealt. That is what I intend to do with whatever time I have left.
I thought it would be interesting to scratch the surface of how Ponyboy may have processed his immense grief and sadness after the events of the book. Losing people he loved tremendously in such quick succession is a nightmare to many, I imagine. This was simply my take on it, which very much incorporates my own ideas and thoughts about grief, as it relates to my experience in losing loved ones. Let me know what you think :)