Letting Be . . .

 

I experienced a huge blip yesterday. Life got on top of me I guess. That seems to be happening to me quite a lot lately. Yesterday I found myself just feeling so very sad for most of the day, which really is quite unlike me. This is not to say that I don't have sad moments, everyone does . . .  but usually I can shake them off quite easily.

Lately the sadness has felt like a huge weight bearing down upon my shoulders . . .  threatening to drown me. It hits in tsnuami-like waves, requiring all of my strength just to stay upright.  There are times when I just want to let go and allow them to carry me away.  

 

Sometimes I hate myself for feeling this way.  I am not the first person to lose someone they love, nor will I be the last.  I feel incredibly lucky to have had someone in my life that I loved so much that letting go has been so incredibly, heart renderingly difficult to do.  It scares me to know that this will not be the last good-bye that will feel this way, and I stagger beneath the weight and knowledge that more will come . . . 

Losing my mother is probably the hardest, most soul-wrenching thing I have ever had to go through and I don't think I will ever get over it.  I might stand a chance if I didn't also have other incredibly painful things that I am going through at the same time . . . . 

  

Lately I find myself having to acknowledge that there are people in my life who just, for whatever reasons and no matter how much I love them . . .  don't want me to be a part of theirs. Over the past few weeks this has become increasingly and shockingly clear to me, and yet I love them with every fibre of my being.  Did I not, it would not hurt so much.  I don't want to give up on anyone . . . but I find myself coming to the point where I think that in order to survive myself, I must.   But in the next breath I ask myself how can I.  How can I ever give up on people I love as much as I love them . . . 

I have always been a forgiving person. I would not change that part of me for anything. 

My father always taught me that there were two sides to every story.  That it takes two to tango.  I am so grateful for parents that, although they broke up and got divorced, did not force us to take sides and allowed us to love each of them in equal measure. I recognise what a gift that was to us, as their children. 

My father would be the first one to tell you that he misses our mother as much as we do. That he has lost the best friend that he ever had.  Yesterday he told me that he telephones the house sometimes when he knows my sister isn't there just so that he can hear my mother's voice on the answer machine and that he leaves messages for her.  

It is a very different story in so many other families . . . not all people are so kind to each other . . .  and especially those who should know better.

  

I apologise for the blip yesterday.  I can't explain it because there are some things in my life and people  I am not privy to talk about.  I live in a country filled with people who don't really get that close to each other. I don't have anyone I can really talk to about things and so sometimes when I am really sad I let it spill out here.  I shouldn't do that. 

I miss my mom. I could and did tell her anything and everything, knowing she would love me always no matter what.  Even when I know I might have really disappointed her.   Because that is what mom's do.  They love.  Always. Forever. No matter what, and with all of themselves.  I am the same. I love, always and forever, no matter what and with all of myself.  

  

Grief is the price you pay for love.  This is true not only when we have to say goodbye to our loved ones when they pass over and go to the other side, but also when for whatever reasons the people you love choose to cut you out of their lives.  

Death is the easier one to deal with because you know that it is only a temporary separation and that you will be together again. You know the separation was not because of anyone's choice . . .   The other separation is not so easy to deal with but the grief is no less profound and may even be deeper. I am not sure.  Yes, grief IS the price we pay for love, but  . . .  in all truth I would love and love and love again. It is a price that is worth paying.  Letting go is easy . . .  letting be is the hard part.

The End.