Letting Go

Letting go: One moment in which we are aware of releasing.

I have often thought of release as one moment in which I let go of something. But as I look more closely, I can see it is a slow process. For example, a tree releases its leaves at the end of a long process that begins with the budding and blooming of leaves, their production of chlorophyll, capture of carbon dioxide, and release of oxygen. And it continues until the chlorophyll cycle ends and the release of the leaves begins. The leaves change colors as the chlorophyll cells shut down. The decomposition process then begins.

The process of letting go of anything within me is also a long process, longer than we generally acknowledge as a society. For me, it begins with the growth and connection and production of the good a relationship builds within me. The the depth of that relationship often parallels the sense of loss that comes with letting go. For trees as well as for people that exchange and the interruption of it is a natural process. But in us who do not live as trees, this part of the cycle creates the sense of loss.

That sense of loss can happen over simple things such as when a favorite pair of jeans have frayed beyond repair or can happen over something more complex such as a loss of a pet or a loved one. In that case, my awareness of loss is compounded by the continuous flow of love within me that now has nowhere to go. It is all part of that process.

Understanding this release and the eventual regrowth that follows helps me find a place for my love to flow—that understanding can help guide me, but it does not release me from the ache or sense of emptiness that comes with letting go. That takes time. With my jeans, less emotional investment meant less grief. With a loved one, more emotional investment meant more grief, and it also meant more time was required to let go, if at all.

This is why this pandemic has torn at my soul—a realization of the magnitude of grief people in the world are living with today.

Yes, before the last century things like infant and child morality rates were what we see today as high, perhaps one in four. This meant every family knew grief and had to cope with letting go. They had to let go of not only the older members of their family, but also the young. We are perhaps four or five generations past that, enough for us to expect the old to live longer and young to live full lives. But it is still close enough that the echo of those losses still can ring clearly in some souls.

Yes, we are mortal. Our time here is limited. But our time here, our relationships here are deeply valuable. They define us as individuals and as a people and as a species. We love. We care. We find joy in one another and we bring joy to one another. This is who we are. This is the other part of the cycle in which we all live. This is the part that is not letting go—it is holding on.