a different kind of letting go

Just when you thought you had it all figured out, life bears down on you and surprises you with an uppercut. A nasty one. The kind that makes you reel in pain, and blinds you with such intensity that your most ardent wish is to just slam your body against the floor, and never, ever wake up. Until after the referee calls it. Until after the lights are down. Until after the audience has gone.


For years and years, I've tried to be the mother she never had. I loved her with all the love a sister could muster for her own blood, imperfections and all. Like all broken china dolls, us sisters didn't turn out the perfect shade or shape or mold. We each dealt with it the best way we could, with me hanging on to the 'mommy' role longest, because I knew I could hack it. It was my therapy too.

A few days ago, I realized I had been hanging on too long. My shobe is now a lovely queen in her own right. Established, knowledgeable, loving, and responsible in her own ways, weird though they may seem to others' eyes. She turned out wonderfully unique, I think. I was just too busy protecting her from imagined pain to fully comprehend this. Not anymore. Try as I might to shield her from pain, I know I can't control her or hide her away forever. She has learned all she can learn from me. I have shown her all the things she should and should not do. Now, it's her turn. To feel love. And pain. And happiness. And hurt. And confusion. And romance. And frustration. And giddiness. And misery. And life.

Past the quarter-life crisis age, I learn yet another new thing. From a soul I helped strengthen, no less.

And so, here I am, silently letting you go, with all the love and strength a mother can muster for her dear child. And all the hidden anguish and pain that comes with it.

Mary, grant me strength.