Letting Go

Someone said to me the other day that they thought "letting go" meant to stop loving someone. I kindly informed them that this is not the case. But it sent me into some deep thoughts, and I thought I might share them with you. The Christmas season tends to spark my dwelling on things like this anyway.

I guess I am old enough now to be "wise", but I think I have always been considered "wise beyond my years". That kind of comes as a side dish with a dysfunctional childhood and trauma, I suppose. But yes...I guess I am wise, because I know this sort of heartache. The kind that never really ever goes away. It's like a cramp in your soul. A kink in your spirit. A scar on your heart. It never heals completely really. It never goes away. 

"Letting go" may quite possibly be one of the hardest things to do. Letting go of someone because of death...letting go of someone because the relationship you have with them is poisonous... That shit is hard. And, in a sense, you never really let go. Not truly. You let go enough to be able to survive. You let go enough to move forward. You let go enough...but never completely. 

My first real "letting go" was when I lost my grandfather. He was so much to me. He was everything. He wasn't supposed to die so soon. And I still think of him pretty much every day. I can still hear his voice in my mind. I still know his smell. Sometimes in my dreams he visits me and I get to hear him call out my name again. He's always there to encourage me, to push me to be my best, to scold me when I have completely fucked up. But I thank him for that. He was special. 

I "let go" of my fathers at different times. I let go of my bio dad when I was around 13. He was never the father I wanted. Never there. Never showing me how he cared or that he even really knew I existed. I was forced to let go of my step-father. That one was hard. He has struggled for years and years with substance abuse and it finally got to a point where I just couldn't handle picking him up off the floor anymore. My heart couldn't take it. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't watch him kill himself. 

But letting go of those people doesn't mean I ever stopped loving them. Not in the least. I still love my step dad with great ferocity. He was my real dad. He was the one who showed up...at least for a while. He was the one who picked me up and mended my skinned knees. He was the one who was "there". He means a lot to me. And now that I am older I understand what it means to let go, but still love. Because I always have that door open for him to come back. I will never stop hoping for him to walk through it. I understand that he is a slave to his own faults and I understand how hard it is to overcome them. But he is and will always be my "Daddy".

Letting go doesn't mean you stop loving them, not always. Sometimes it does. But often that is not the case. And when you face this kind of challenge it isn't easy, and it never really becomes easy. You just sort of go on with life and in time it just becomes a part of you. A dull longing. Something that doesn't hurt quite as much as the initial cut, but still hurts in a way. And you hold it, like a firefly in your hands, with great care and delicacy. You hold it, because in the end...you sort of never really let go. Not completely.