Letting go...

Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.
~ Herman Hesse 

I'm struggling to let go of things in my basement, in my closets, in my garage. I don't know why it is such a difficult task. Some of these have been packed in boxes for years and are smashed beyond all usefulness. Still, I hesitate...

Last week I filled the trunk of my Prius with clothes I no longer use or need. Now a second load of unwanted items waits patiently in the trunk to be dropped off at the Good Will. Before taking them, I thought I might be able to find a few more things. So I'm off to the basement. It's a very brave thing to do. Basements can be so overwhelming.

One of the things I love about the process of de-cluttering is discovering memories attached to the things you find. I found a collage of photos this morning taken about twenty-five years ago. It made me smile to see my 5-year old daughter with her Indian headdress hiding behind a bush in our front yard or wrapped in a wispy shawl of mine, smiling mischievously. So, now instead of letting go completely, I want to take this to my daughter. She may want it, who knows...

For now I'm moving on to another closet. The basement holds far too many memories for me to sort through today. Besides, the sun is shining so brightly, it's just a shame to cloister myself in the basement. All of those boxes will be waiting for another day, more cloudy or rainy or dreary than today.

My Daughter

And so to these


unspoken shadows


and this broad night


I make


a quiet


request


to the


great parental


darkness


to hold her


when I cannot,


to comfort her


when I am gone,


to help her learn


to love


the unknown


for itself,


to take it


gladly


like


a lantern


for the way


before her,


to help her see


where ordinary


light will not help her,


where happiness has fled,


where faith


will not reach.

~David Whyte

I'd like to share just a portion of the poem, a prayer really, written by David Whyte to his daughter. It expresses my deepest wish for my daughter's spiritual nurturing. 

Thirty years ago, my life changed in ways never imagined. My daughter, Amanda, was born and with her came untold joy, amazement, and, of course, challenge. I don't know if we are born with the seed of becoming a mother or not, but Amanda brought such love and laughter, along with tears and struggles, that I became her protector, nurturer, guide, and teacher. I became her mother. I didn't always know what might be best, but I was open to that great parental spirit to show me the way. Mistakes most likely have been made through the years and with them great lessons. So, it has always been with great love and devotion that I have stood with her as she found her own way. She shines brightly each day and moves through life with courage and grace. 

Happy birthday to my daughter ~ a joy, a miracle ~ quite simply a remarkable young lady!

Rozella

Yesterday was my mother-in-law's birthday. She would have been 92. She loved being born on St. Patrick's Day! I don't think she was Irish, but the huge March 17th celebration was embraced with total abandon.  I've never known anyone who received as many birthday cards - well over 100!


The thing about her was that she just had this indomitable spirit. She never wanted to admit she couldn't do something. She rode her bike 7-10 miles a day until she was 84. The only reason she stopped was because she fell and her doctor advised her not to ride anymore. She grew up in a small Indiana town and listening to stories of her youth reminded me of the novel, "Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe."


She lived in Florida for her retirement years, nearly 30. She absolutely loved the sunshine! When we visited her, she was like a little kid, giggling and excited to have us. We met her friends and toured all the local spots with her. So many warm memories...


She had many, many friends from all over the country and for years they corresponded by letter. She loved getting all those letters and then she'd worry about responding to everyone. It was hard to watch as her ability to write began to wane.


When she decided to move from Florida to be near us, we didn't realize her forgetfulness was early stages of Alzheimer's. The dread disease crept into her brain and stole her memories, first just little things like forgetting the laundry. But later in a most cruel way, she forgot almost everything. 


Visiting her was so difficult at the end, I think in part, because it brings you face to face with your own aging, your own failing memory, your own fears. Often I would just sit with her, just feel her love and send her love. It was so important to us to be with her even though she may not have remembered who we were. I will always believe that she knew the love we shared and was comforted by it. We miss her...
 

Mysteries, Yes

 

Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.

 

How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising.
How two hands touch and the bonds
will never be broken.
How people come, from delight or the
scars of damage,
to the comfort of a poem.

 

Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.

 

Let me keep company always with those who say
"Look!" and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.

 

~ Mary Oliver ~