Today's news about Barbaro did something inside of me, reminded me of something I should have remembered. It's called:
Letting Go
The first time I came across the difficult decision to let go was when my little female dashund, Ginger, was too sick to get off the couch. She was eleven at the time, and I'd had her since she was a pup, and I was in kindergarten.
All the fun of growing up with her seemd to disappear when I came home from school that day, and my Mom said that she had been to the vet with Ginger, and there wasn't any hope of prolonging her life without a lot of suffering from an old dog that had done her best throughout her life.
She had been loved. Now she was humanely put down.
My brother and I sat on the back porch for hours, crying our eyes out.
Only later did I realize that this was the best decision...to let her go.
Many years later, when my father didn't come out of heart surgery without having a clot hit his brain, and that he was on life support for a week, and the outcome was that the best that could be hoped for was that he'd regain consciousness, but never walk, nor think, nor even know who came to visit him in a nursing home...well, we had a "family meeting", and agreed that he would never want to "live" that way, and Mom called the hospital and got through to the ICU, told them to disconnect the life support. Let go.
The crying lasted a lot longer this time. Not a day goes by that I don't think of him.
Since then, there have been far too many, ones that I've held out so much hope for, so many prayers.
What comes to me is that there really isn't a way to completely let go.
Even when they pass, a part lives on in my memory, a gift that doesn't let go.
A friend of mine, who now is going through Alzheimers, told me this before things started going badly for him. Here are his words, "Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, and today is the present. Treat it like a gift, cause that's what it is." There's no letting go of that.
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