I’m picking up things as I walk through the house, things I finally need to let go: the tiara that mama used in a girls scouting group so long ago; the tiny Raggedy Ann a friend hand-stitched for me; the Star Wars figures our son wants us to still keep for him.
Some things I put down and pick up again, not ready to say goodbye, not ready to let go.
There’s a tall stack of art tablets filled with paintings and sketches, one of my hobbies where I find a quiet escape from the should’s. Tucked between the paintings and tablets that litter the shelves is a bit of pride and its evil twin self-doubt. Like the insecurity that ducks between the family photos it’s a reminder these feelings are imposters hiding behind the things I cling to.
In between is that liminal space of releasing and clinging. We make space for the precious-to-us things….the tangible reminders of our parents and grandparents: the ragged-edged bibles listing the births of all 12 of grandma’s children, the painting our granddaughter made in preschool. Sometimes the clinging feels a little like holding on to a youth I don’t want to let go and realizing it’s long been gone.
The liminal space between past and present is where I, and maybe you?, live. It’s why I can’t seem to let go, fearful that I’m letting go of the memories and stories held inside the Raggedy Ann and the dish in the shape of a red apple.
For me, the release is coming a little at a time. I still linger with the memories connected to the things, mindful it’s the memories I don’t want to lose. I will find a way to let go yet still hold close the remembrance of what ordinary things can symbolize. Another day.
I can't wait to see you Jesus, face to face
Nothing in this world can take Your place
All the pride of man laid low and all his works of gold
Nothing can compare with what You are
Let everything else go
Phil Keaggy
I so get it. Been there. Even yesterday when I decided to tackle the 'office/homeschool room" It's something of a shrine now. I did put away books and folders and I filled two large trash bags but I don't think I am ready to take down the colorful posters that define parts of speech and the big letters that span the top of the bookcase that announces World History. This is art for me now.
This is hard to explain to those who have not reached my spot in the circle of life. I find it difficult to participate in forums of women who are just now discovering middle age and empty nest. What do I say? Been there done that? What words do I use to comfort - you'll get over it? Nope - no one wants to hear that. I guess that's one reason I stopped my blogspot and switched to substack. I needed a home for my elder perspective even if I am just talking to myself.
Last weekend we had a rare gathering of our first heirs. Only one lone teen grand was there. It was epic on many levels.
https://meemanator.substack.com/p/serendipity