“Life is a balance of holding on and letting go.” — Rumi
Holding on and letting go is one of the subjects I keep coming back to, a thread in many of my essays and remembrances. It’s an essential element in the cycle of life, a theme in many of my memories, a lesson to be learned and practiced as needed, and today again, present in my journey.
This is not unique to me. It’s a universal truth; it’s what makes us human, mortal, and sentient beings. Holding on and letting go is one of the first things we learn as an infant, one of the first things we teach as a parent, one of the most difficult emotions we experience at the beginning and at the end of our lives, and the lives of loved ones, as we examine who and what we need to let go of and who and what we need to hold onto. As a person lucky enough to live six decades, I’m grateful. I’ve held on and let go of many things, some which served me, some that were stumbling blocks I had to overcome, and some were myths about myself which needed to be dispelled so I could live authentically. It’s an unfinished process of becoming.
I’ve also let go of people, family members I’ve loved, friends I’ve lost track of or left behind, lovers and partners who’ve come and gone, children who grew up and ventured out on their own, and furry companions who shared our homes and our laps.
Broken Open
The past month (and longer), holding on and letting go has been front and center in my life. I’ve also mused and written about time and how difficult it is sometimes to simply live in the present. I vacillate between looking back to the past and holding on to a memory or a belief, then fast forwarding to the future, often anticipating outcomes that I fear and are outside of my control.
The past couple of years I’ve mourned my mother’s death, before that my sister Roz, my first friend, and decades earlier grandmothers, aunts and uncles, cousins, and friends who died young, generations of family and loved ones.
I’ve said goodbye to all kinds of loved ones, a husband, women who were my significant other, lovers, friends with benefits, friends who became chosen family and mentors, children I co-parented for a time, and canine and feline companions. Some remain in life, all inhabit memory.
In the past week I spent time with my ex-partner. We were together for fifteen years, or Fifteen Valentines depending on how you count. Our dog, Sweet Penny Rocket, who was part of our shared life is near the end of hers. My exes’ partner is facing her own health crisis and the impending death of a parent.
This past Friday I shared a family dinner with my sister Tami and her family who live in Madison, while my sister Cindy, living with terminal cancer, was visiting from our hometown of Racine, Wisconsin. It was bittersweet. I was quiet, which is atypical for me. I listened more than I talked, I wanted my words to have meaning and not just fill the emptiness of pauses in conversation. I witnessed my family be together in the moment, my sisters, brother-in-law, niece and nephew, and barking, playful dogs. I left with a sad heart. As in the past, I’m anticipating the death of a loved one. The song, Who Knows Where the Time Goes? becomes the soundtrack to this story.
Sister Cindy
Also, this past Friday, was the year anniversary of the death my friend, mentor, and Alcoholic Anonymous sponsor, Jane. Her death reminded me of a life well-lived and a manner of death one could only wish for. She had a dog in her lap, a smile on her face, and her partner Carol nearby. Jane left this world sitting in her chair as she took her last breath.
Later this morning, I have my weekly phone date with Dad. I check-in with him once a week, and visit him once a month. Next weekend I’ll spend part of the day with him, watch the University of Wisconsin Badgers play football, then stop by my sister Cindy’s home. Dad is 88-years-old, and though for the most part he’s healthy and thriving, I’m already fast-forwarding to a future without him. It seems like I can’t help myself, grieving is something I practice in the moment, looking back at the past, and forward to the future.
I’m still learning what to hold onto and what to let go. Life is finding the balance. This is life, distilled.
“Nothing in the world is permanent, and we’re foolish when we ask anything to last, but surely we’re still more foolish not to take delight in it while we have it.” — W. Somerset Maugham
Broken Open
A baby is born, its first breath,
a cry deep from its belly,
catapulted by its diaphragm,
launches into the world.
Blood flushes its cheeks. Joy.
A person dies, their last breath,
a gasp from the throat,
emptied by the bellows of the lungs,
seeps shallow into the world.
Blood drains from the cheeks. Grief.
In between, a life,
impermanence and uncertainty.
Sunrises and moonsets,
sunsets and moonrises,
we wake and sleep,
tides ebb and flow.
The earth rotates,
revolves around the sun.
Seasons change,
we work and play,
laugh and cry,
love and hate.
…and everything in between,
from dreaming to regretting,
holding on to letting go,
from learning to forgetting,
remembering to forgiving.
This is life, distilled.
…and in this moment,
I am broken open,
in awe of this gift,
grateful for what exists
in between
each inhalation and exhalation.
LLL
Related Reading from Mixed Metaphors, Oh My!
Thanks! Lewis