Letting go is so much easier when one has time on one’s side. It gets harder as the years go on, until change becomes an obstacle like the giant elephant in the room that everyone tries to overlook.
The other day, I found a box in my closet. It was something my mother had given me a while ago and I had meant to sort through it, but it had ended up like several “projects,” pushed out of sight until a rainy day. I opened it and discovered quite a surprise that kept me up well past my bedtime that night. They were letter upon letter written to my grandmother by a gentleman who was obviously quite prominent in the twilight of her life.
There were over fifty, all between five years apart, and all to my widowed grandmother imploring her to come to him and be with him, or at least to travel with him and enjoy life. They were both eighty years old at the time of the letters. And as I read, I felt a bit like the boat full of young people listening to the tale of the protagonist in the movie “Titanic.” Fascinated, I could not put them down. And yet they implored the same thing, “why won’t you come? When will you come? I love you, please give me something back.”
While I have no idea, except for what I gleaned from his responses, what my Gram wrote to him; the fact is, she never did go to him. She never did travel with him. And yet…here were all of his letters, carefully preserved safely in their envelopes. Did she love him? Had she ever really let go of him? His last letter implied that he never let go of her, and spoke of physical troubles he was having, and doctor’s visits. He said he would never give up hope for them. There were no more letters after that.
I had to let go of someone recently. When we met, it was obvious to both of us that had we met in another time and place we would have been together as partners. Yet, it was not the right time, and we were not about to toss our current lives up into the wind to selfishly be together. I had to learn to deal with the complete cutting off, after several months of daily communication, with what I felt was a soul mate. I felt empty and didn’t know how to cope with it. I could not tell my best friend, who is my husband, as there was no need to hurt him further. Yet I had to find an outlet.
Like my grandma, I kept the few emails from him (today’s answer to yesterday’s handwritten, personal letters.) They are in a special place. I can tell you what I did that KEPT me from letting go: I read them every day. I listened to music that he had shared with me, and in particular a song that he said reminded him of me. I would even call his voice-mail sometimes to hear his voice, only to hang up and realize how stupid and child like that was. And yes, his voice was exactly as I remembered it. I looked at his picture and kept fantasizing what it would have been like if his plans had come to fruition. Was I in love? It was certainly a longing and craving. It was maybe part lust, but nothing happened between us except a paring of quiet souls who met and knew each other, and longed for what we could not have. Finally I had to imagine the relationship and all its trappings: the songs and notes, the gestures and timber of his voice, and put them on an iceberg in my mind and gently watch them float away until out of sight. Was it that easy? Of course not…but it helped. And I focused on the present, on the people in my life who bring me joy. I reached out to old friends, and one of them I trusted with my story and she understood and hugged me and let me cry a little.
It’s harder to let go of someone you love if they are no longer on this earth. When I lost my father, my world crashed in, and yet I had to take care of my mother, who was more like a child than even I realized. He had been my best friend and my confidant. Truthfully, I don’t think you ever let go of someone like that. It just changes over time. The last thing my father did was point to my heart and say, “I’ll always be right here.” But while no one can ever replace him specifically, I have met older gentlemen who remind me of dad, and I have to smile and I always feel comfortable around them. Perhaps I’ve moved into a different place – a different type of letting go – an acceptance really.
Every day my child grows I have to do a bit of letting go. I need to step out of the way and let her figure things out for herself. I see her tears when she isn’t invited to the classmates birthday, or when her feelings are hurt, and I want to hold her and protect her from the world. I cry silent tears when she cries. And yet, I need to let her find her own way. Just as everyone does.
Lovers, fathers, children; they come into our lives and leave in their own way, and though we love them all, we must find our own way to accept, and let go and move on and let them move on, as others have done for us.
