What Does it Mean to Let Go?

My nephew asked me the other day about my experience of my dad’s illness and death. “What do you wish someone had told you to help you cope or understand things better when you were going through that time in your life?” 

What a loaded question! 

First of all, I wanted desperately for him to get better! I was angry that it was happening. This man that I had watched carry two (sometimes three) of my siblings in his arms at once was withering away and I didn’t understand why he wasn’t fighting harder. He was the strongest man I knew! People were praying for him. Priests were praying for him! (There were 13 on the altar at his funeral...so not just a couple parish priests, but an enclave fit for electing the pope!). Everybody loved him. I loved him. I didn’t understand why he didn’t heal. In fact, he became sicker. The cancer attacked his spinal cord and paralyzed him from the chest down. The chemo made him sick to his stomach. I watched him go from 5’11¾" and 180# of tire-throwing, baby holding muscle to skin and bones in a hospital bed or wheelchair.  

Shortly after my 15th birthday, our dear family friend took me out to lunch.  She explained to me that my dad’s body was done fighting and he was holding on in part because he needed me to let him go. 

What does that mean?  

Let go of my love? No! My connection to him? NO! My hope? Not exactly.  

Letting go is a shift in perspective – the assumption that I am in control, the need to be in control, and the assumption that my way is best. 

Dad lived 39 years, 9 months, and 26 days. 

He missed a LOT of things – not just with me, but my mom, my 7 brothers and sisters, our spouses, his grandchildren, his mom, his brothers and sisters, his businesses, his friends, and the many priests he and Mom knew from their work with the church.  

But did he? 

I’ve come to believe he’s been there for it all.  

I have felt his presence many times: on my wedding day, on a bike ride, in the car, with my kids, with my neighbors and friends -not in the bear-hug, loud laugh, make his presence known kind of way when I was growing up, but a more subtle feeling that matches how I felt in his presence.  

I learned to let go of the need to be right.  

It doesn’t mean I don’t miss him. It doesn’t mean I no longer have a connection with him. It doesn’t mean I’m now a pessimist.  

It means that in my reality, Dad is no longer suffering AND he’s still around.  

He would be 81 years old right now. He would be loud and funny, and loving. He would sing off-key. He would tease his sons and daughters-in-law to let them know he loved them. He would have carried his grandchildren around for far too long. He would have tire dirt and oil that never came out from under his fingernails or in the cracks in his hands. He would drink beer, belch, fart, and tell off-color jokes. He would smoke nasty cigars and play cribbage. He would offer a helping hand to anyone who needed it. He would always have a sparkle in his eyes...and usually a smile on his face.  

That’s the soul I can still feel with me.  

I had to let the physical one go to continue to feel his spirit on my happiest, saddest, and most mundane days.  

My experience is unique to me – but it’s not a unique experience. 

I would have never chosen my dad to leave his earthly body when he did – not in a million trillion years! But he did, and because of that I am the person I am today. I have the husband, children, and life I have because of that experience (and I would choose them!).  

Dad helps me, protects me, loves and guides me in ways he never could have if his body hadn’t died when it did. For that, I am grateful that I figured out how to let go.