Thin String

All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.-
Havelock Ellis

When is letting go and holding on the same thing?

I think I am doing both right now.

I remember when I was about eight years old, I went to the zoo with my younger sister and my Dad.

We had a fun day (as I remember), and my Dad bought us each a balloon. My father gave me the two balloons to hold as he put my little sister in the car.

Then, I accidentally let go of her balloon, and it floated away. I felt awful. I remember the emotion. It was guilt. The feeling was like being washed with rain. Water was pouring over me, soaking me, and I couldn’t get dry. It was a very sunny day, but my being was saturated. I was covered in failure.

Eventually, I had to let go of more than her balloon. I had to release my sister completely. She died when she was only eight years old from leukemia. I remained here, a sister one minute, and then, an only child the next. I relinquished.

The feeling I had as she “floated away” wasn’t like being washed in the rain; it was more like, in my mind, I was trying to shoot to the sky to hold her hand one more time. There was no guilt, but certainly there was grief. I realized I was here and she was gone.

So, how does this story of loss connect to my life now?

I am holding on to one I love. The vision of a possible painful outcome compels me to cling to her. Yet, I know of disappointment, and I am not stubbornly possessive, so I have an internal desire to let go. I want to move on and away.

Yet, sometimes holding on and letting go are one and the same.

As a young girl, I was holding the balloon. I still remember I had a tight grip, but somehow the balloon flew away from me. Watching it fly was like watching my heart release and travel with it. I let go before it was the right time. The failure to hold on was my failed obligation and purpose.

This instance is not the point of departure or the cessation of holding on. I must still endure.

I’m holding on as I am preparing to let go.

Hopefully, this time when this loved one floats away it will be toward independence and health.

I do not want to feel like I relinquished control, but rather that I just voluntarily stepped back from any claim to her.

I am fearful. I am hopeful.

The thin string I hold is briefly in my hands. This is my momentary purpose.

If I pass it to her carefully, maybe her feet will stay grounded. I think letting go and holding on can be the same thing, as I want her to hold on, and then I can let go.

It is just a passing game when the time is right.