Letting go is coming to the realization that something is not what you thought it once was, and letting go of that dream. Letting go is the cold reality of knowing you can never go back to that place of truth again, that moment in time where you felt truly loved, or when you felt truly at home.
I am not a fan of this “letting go”. I am all for holding on, and riding it out during the worst storms, but there are some things that are not within my control, and that breaks my heart, and it breaks my spirit when I look to my future, and the future of my children, and my children’s children.
My husband died, and I had no control over that. I do not have control over how I grieve when I am alone, but I do have control over how I react when our children are watching me, or when I choose to not show someone how truly broken I am. This constant, exhausting, daily denial that everything is “okay”, as I go about my day, and do everything that is expected of me as a mother, because that is my role, and anything else that I may want, or may want to become, will have to wait. And that is okay, because I will always put my children first.
I had to leave my home. My grandparents raised me in this home. I raised my children in this home, and our family lived and loved in this home. My grandma looked out into the beautiful sunsets every evening, as I did every evening, and they brought me peace and solace, but mostly, they brought me to tears for so many reasons. I was finally where I was supposed to be. Everything was as it should be. There is only one person in this world, that understood that to the core, and that person would have fought for our home, tooth and nail.
I had to buy another car. I walked away from the car that Ross and I bought together. The car we drove to the beach in, and laughed and joked, and sang stupid songs in. It was a part of us, just like our home, and just like our beautiful children, who are firmly holding on to any piece of their father that they can, but their fingers are slipping and they are panicking. They live in a bubble of disbelief.
I bought a home, and I bought a car, and I have these things, because Ross died. Ross gave me this new life, and I sit here, and I am lost, and still floundering about, not knowing where to go from here. But I have GONE many places, and DONE many things, physically. I took our kids on a cruise to the Bahamas, and though it didn’t feel much like a vacation, it was AWAY, and it was soothing, and it calmed my endless sobbing. At the same time, it revealed to me the realities that I am facing, such as loneliness, trust issues, and feeling like I am not strong or good enough to be a mother and a father. That confidence is dull and blurry some days, and then other days, I am rocking as Mom. The vacation reminded me that I really DID have a great guy, that could be trusted 110%, because I watched this portrael of a loving couple, with two gorgeous daughters, have their own delightful vacation. I was envious, and even a little bit angry. But then the force of it hit me, and this sweet wife wasn’t around, and her arrogant husband was flirting with young, drunk girls, and his daughters were tossed aside and didn’t matter in that moment. That wasn’t a loving couple, but it was a creation, like a fake Facebook profile, but with real pain and real heartbreak. It reminded me of the single life, and it reminded me that I didn’t want it.
It is all gone, but I am NOT letting go. I can still see Ross, and feel him laughing at me, even mocking me, as he often did, and I can feel him reach for me, when I am hunched over, at my wits end. He is here, and even though it is not the same as having him physically, that is all that I have, and I will take it. I know there are many women out there, that have never felt loved, and I carry that with me, every morning that I wake up with pain in my heart, and every night that I toss and turn in bed, with all the worries rattling in my head. I carry that love with me, because it is all that remains. Love, and Mom, and Reagan and Bailey, and all of our broken pieces, dumped into one big pile, as we stumble and fall, and fight to put those pieces back together, until they appear to some have resemblance of a life.
Stumble, and fall, and fight…..that is what our life has become, and that is how we survive.