There is a time for departure even when there is no certain place to go.
There’s a line from Sarah McLachlan that goes, “I have the sense to recognize that I don’t know how to let you go.” And I feel that way with you now.
What is letting go? I’ve heard about it from friends, have read it somewhere in a book or from a passage I like; have talked about it countless times as I witness the constant change happening around me. But to be in this position where I must do that letting go, to be the one to decide to let go –i never imagined it would come this fast, this soon. And that it was this hard, like something’s preventing me from breathing.
You never leave someone behind, you take a part of them with you and leave a part of yourself behind.
Throughout these past months I have gone through the stages of grief, pain and loss, but every once in a while I still have a pang. A pang of emptiness that seems so deep it washes over me like a wave. And then for days I don’t seem to be able to get my feet solid on the ground.
Especially today as I remember your birthday, and I would have loved to celebrate it with you as planned. Then I remember, it’s not with me that you’re celebrating it, and you may have already forgotten about it.
The plans never materialized, and I’ll never get to celebrate with you again. And it’s tiring, the way I still feel like I have a right to celebrate it with you, or that the plans must materialize in some way. It’s tiring the way I still hope you remember everything, and it’s tiring when you don’t and I have to tell that myself over and over again.
I am tired, and maybe that is part of letting go –just being tired from the constant ups and downs and from the cycle that shouldn’t determine your life. I am tired of hoping and tired of denying the truth screaming before my face: I am here, and you are there, and that is how it is NOW.
I have the sense to recognize that I don’t know how to let you go, and maybe I don’t have to know how: I just have to do what I’ve been doing these past months: move in my world and let you move in yours. And before I know it, I’ve finally let you go.
But just before I do, let me greet you a tearful but sincere Happy Birthday.