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Letting Go – A memorial to a friend

anthony & the johnsons:knockin' on heaven's door

I wrote a short post awhile back about letting go. It was nothing much — just a knee-jerk little thought-barf about the sense of overwhelm I was feeling at the time (focused mostly on the aggravating effect of social media on my stressed-out psyche). It had nothing to do with death or loss, but it was motivated by an honest instinct somewhere deep inside me that was urging me to just ‘let go’.

And now I’m thinking (again) about what that really means.

Because I lost a friend today — someone that I used to know and love, but who I hadn’t seen in almost twenty years — and my heart is breaking because of it.

Because she is gone, and the possibility of ever seeing her again is gone. And she has left behind so many people that loved her, and I know that they are heartbroken and devastated by her passing, because if her laughter is still ringing in my ears after all these years, I can’t imagine what those for whom her laughter was a daily presence are going through.

And I feel sad. Deeply sad that this person, who left such a mark on me, is now gone.

But I also feel that I have a slightly better handle on what it means to let go. The older I get (and the more people that I lose it seems) the more I understand that ‘letting go’ is just another way of saying ‘accept’.

Accept that life is transient.

Accept that things change.

Accept what has happened.

Accept yourself and what you are feeling at all times.

And be grateful for it all, because it only comes around once.

Rest in peace, Trish. My life was made better because you were in it.

~k

Photo by Lali Masriera (visualpanic) on Flickr used under a Creative Commons License

2 comments on “Letting Go – A memorial to a friend

  1. D'Arcy Norman
    July 19, 2013

    Damn. That hurts.

    I’m trying to not wait to tell people how much I love them after its too late. Too many obituary reflections, not enough of openly loving the living.

    You are my oldest friend. Well, I have friends who are much older, but I’ve known you since we were 5. That’s awesome. I’ve always considered you one of my best friends – a very short list that I can count with my fingers.

    You rock. Hard. Always have. My life is (still) better for having known you – even better, because I can’t remember ever not knowing you. How awesome is that? Very.

    Anyway.

    You rock. On many levels.

    – D

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    • kim faires
      July 19, 2013

      I could’ve written all that about you, D’Arce. But you’ve beaten me to it. (Not that it’s a competition or anything.) I don’t know what forces conspired to bring you back into my life after so many years, but I’m sure as hell glad that they did, and that we are still here to talk about it. Moments like this serve as a constant reminder to me to stay as real and as open and honest as I can. I cannot believe how short life can be. I really can’t. Thanks for checkin’ in. I love you very much.

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This entry was posted on July 19, 2013 by in Short-winded Existential Angst and tagged , , , .

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