letting go

letting go is hard. always. at least a little, and sometimes a lot. there is fear. and what ifs and something's better than nothing. there can be ownership and control at stake (or so we think). there can be identity lost, or other things lost. and emptiness- that feeling of what was but is no longer there. and the meaning in it all, or under it, or hidden in the middle of it. there can be a lot of questions, sweaty palms and curled fingers, and re-grabbing. it doesn't feel good or right, but letting go sets our hands free to see what is next. 

a long time ago, i had to let go of 'normal'. it was a long process with much re-grabbing. for a long time it felt like i was clinging to something that was slipping between my fingers, dripping like an ice cream cone on a hot day. uncontrollable but undeniable. it took years to see that i clung to something that really was never mine. i'll tell you the truth, holding onto the wrong thing brings much more emptiness than letting it go. it's true.

i never thought that zoe wouldn't finish high school. i don't mean that in a judgmental way, it just never crossed my mind. when she was in elementary school and clearly struggling, i figured it was a stage we needed to pass through. i clung to books like "a special education' by dana buchmann who's daughter also struggled with significant learning disabilities, but went on to college. went on to achieve some sort of 'normal'.  "see? that's with in reach." a part of me would say to settle the unsettled bits. but late at night those same unsettled bits would search the internet for the diagnostic criteria of autism, for other syndromes that perhaps we'd missed, for a peek into the black hole of what we were dealing with, for clarity, solutions, for anything that would either give me hope or force me to see reality, depending on the hour. holding the unknown was nearly impossible.

as years went on, zoe went along on her bumpy unique trajectory. and i went along on mine- equally bumpy and unique. perhaps equally lonely. and in many ways, our grasping ate us from the inside out. we did all that we could for her. we made choices and sacrifices. we tried and we believed in her. but what does that mean? what did we believe about her?

did we believe she could do things that didn't appear to be able to be done? did we believe that she would somehow, someday transform into or arrive at this slippery thing called 'normal'? or did we believe in the unknown of her. in the mystery of who she was made to be? 'believing in' can be clinging if we are believing in the wrong thing. and clinging is the opposite of letting go.

life has shown itself loudly enough and long enough to know that 'normal' didn't belong in our hands in the first place- it doesn't deserve to be clung to by anyone really.

someone asked me today if i'm okay- as in really okay- given zoe's challenges this year and her exit from school. it was a good and thoughtful question and i could see the sweet concern in her eyes. ' i am,' i told her, 'i really am.' but i don't know if she could see the truth in that. the freedom in my eyes.

because there is tremendous freedom in letting go. a fullness replaces the emptiness that was feared. a foundness, the lostness. what is better than false control is not having to be in control. what is better than tightness is openness. when clenched hands release, the body can breathe and what was meant to have always been, can finally bloom and grow.