Letting Go

As she prepared for the evening the smile on her face was youthful and vibrant. The soft lilting music created a soothing ambience and her deliberate movements were like a dance to the rhythm. She cleaned the little table with a damp paper towel and wiped it dry with a fresh one off the roll. She placed a coaster on the center of the table and pulled up two chairs facing one another. She sat on one and put her hand out towards the table, then slowly pulled the chair a little closer, reaching out again. Her smile broadened as if in approval. She then walked across to the second chair and did the same. Next, she lit the floor lamp and positioned it so the center of the table was fully lit. She stood back and said, “Perfect!” She clapped her hands and gave herself a hug. As she walked away I turned the lamp off. It was still light. She threw back her head, rolled her eyes and said, “Here we go again.”

My little girl was all grown up. I still remember the day she entered our world. She had captured my heart the moment I first held her. Big eyes, a head full of dark hair, perfectly shaped lips and soft baby skin - a proverbial bundle of joy that stared right into my eyes as if she had known me forever. We connected and have stayed connected ever since. I have been by her side, watching over her, showing her the light in the dark, paving the path wherever she goes. I have been a witness to her failures and her victories and she makes me proud.

My daughter has the capacity to give selflessly and wholeheartedly. She can love universally and unconditionally, always there for friends or strangers and a soft place for her husband and her children. Yet, there is an air of melancholy in her that has never been voiced. A sadness that first made its way in, while she was little. Witnessing an ailing older sibling and then the death of that loved child of mine, must have been hard. The environment required her to have as little attention as possible and this intuitive child made herself invisible to us by swallowing her tears, hiding her pain and learning to overcome her fears. She learned very early on, to be the strong silent witness to the pain of those around her.

For the last many years, circumstances have placed her in a foreign land of a foreign language. Her husband holds a job requiring him to travel extensively while she works in town and cares for their children. Like with everything in life she handles it with finesse and grace. Life has been a struggle; building a career, caring for children, being a loving wife to a hard-working husband, and like so many women around this world, paying very little attention to herself. She has often advised friends to don their own oxygen mask before helping others with theirs, without realizing, that was the advice she needed the most. I have yearned to tell her so myself, but have refrained. She is an independent woman and will realize it for herself.

I can pinpoint the moment her confidence in her belief that she knew herself, was shattered. She was at the doctor’s office. The nurse checked her weight. It was exactly what it had been six months ago. She watched what she ate, walked rather than drove to places as often as she could, certain, the change in lifestyle would have its effect. That evening she put the children to bed, let the dishes be, left the toys and books on the living room floor and sat in meditation. She had depended on this method for answers from a very young age. My strong little girl, needing no one but her own inner strength to guide her through life. The sandalwood aroma must have helped calm her mind - this little time and space was well earned.

For years, many had told her that her obesity had a reason that deserved probing. She had shrugged it off saying it was part of her genes, that her metabolism was not made for an ideal weight. She finally approached a counselor for help. I was afraid at first, because she had attempted this once before and had come away angry and frustrated. She had wept on her drive home, apologizing to me. “Dad,” she said, “Why is my love for you not understood?”

I had often heard her say that I was her hero. The one who had been with her always, loving her unconditionally. The only person who never judged her, never doubted that she had infinite potential. My love inspired her to aim higher and be a better person every day. To her I was an anchor, and the wing beneath her wings in one. It was a tall order to fit in those hero shoes and I am not sure I deserved her accolades, but I knew that her trust in me kept her whole.

This time her experience with the counselor was different, as she was prompted to tell her story her way. It was painful to watch her talk about her childhood. I had heard her tell it before, but now it came as if from her heart - from an experience. This time as she talked about her hurtful childhood memories, they came not with nervous laughter, but with tears streaming down her cheeks. She talked about how unwanted and neglected she had felt. I had failed to reassure my child that she fulfilled us, completed our family, was the glue that bound us all together. My little girl had been betrayed by her mother, the one who should have nurtured her spirit, instead wounded it with unkind words and indifference. She had been used and abused by a woman who was clearly damaged as a person herself. It was heartening to watch my daughter break the cycle of abuse. She was a loving mother to her children, nurturing their body and mind with tenderness and care. Both her children were full of vigor and joy and their laughter and smiling eyes reflected the love they were always surrounded by.

At last I saw her weep for herself. Clearly the pain she had felt had been buried deep within her. Once she acknowledged the hurt, she blossomed and began to nurture herself. She laughs more, cares for her skin, eats right, exercises and has begun to express her joys and her unhappiness. I can see the weight melting away and her energy increasing. She dances to the music and sings along gleefully. With each passing day I feel I can finally let go. We will always remain connected but we can both move on, knowing that there are others she can trust - because she trusts her own feelings now. She knows she is loved not because I am her dad, but because she is a lovable, beautiful woman.

The doorbell rings. She rushes to the door to meet her husband. I am glad to see him too. Theirs has been a relationship of love and commitment. Each life challenge they have faced together has made them stronger, and yet she has kept him at arm’s length. Her conversations with her counselor have touched upon her fear of abandonment, of rejection, of her love being misunderstood, stemming from her early life experiences. She has acknowledged that these fears have no place in her relationship with her husband who has always treated her with love, understanding and compassion. He never misses an opportunity to appreciate all she does and no matter where he is, calls her - sometimes with just enough time to say how much he loves her.

She takes him by his hand and leads him to the table. Of-course the light is on now, I made sure of that. She invites him to sit on one of the chairs. He looks across at her whimsically as she lights a single candle and places it on the center of the table. She opens a bottle of red wine and pours it into a glass.

“This is different,” he says.

She nods and says, “You have been by my side on this day for the last 10 years. We have never spoken about it, but thank you for your thoughtfulness. I know why you planned to fly in today and spend the evening with me.”

She put her arms across the table and signaled him to do the same. As they held hands cupping the candle flame she said, “Dad has brought the warmth in my heart and the light in my eyes. He has been the gentle breeze that has opened doors for me and the soft touch that has switched lights off and on as I have walked through rooms.”

That brought laughter from them both.

“That whiff of lavender or sandalwood that I have often told you about is part of my sweet memories of Dad. I can smell the sandalwood right now,” she said taking a deep breath in.

She threw her head back and tears welled up in her eyes.

“I feel overwhelmed with joy and with a sense of harmony. I love the little me and know now how to care for her. Dad will always be my hero, but you are no less of a hero to me. You are my soulmate, my husband and I love you dearly - just the way you are. Together you and I will journey through life, leaning on each other, honoring our love and commitment to one another and our babies. We will shower our beautiful children with love and give them a life of joy and wonder. Tonight, I have a new lease on life. I recognize the futility of holding on to past fears and am letting them go. I no longer need to cling to Dad. I am hoping that if I let go, he will recognize that he can let go too. I want to share this glass of wine with you and - Dad, if you are watching - we raise this glass to you and say Godspeed.” She looked at him and together, very gently, they blew the candle out.

I watched as they stood beside the table and hugged in sweet silence. They looked complete.

She is right, I can let go. They get smaller and smaller and eventually I lose sight of them.