Linda Dillion: Letting Go

Does this describe how you've been feeling lately? It seems to be affecting many of us ...

Letting Go – Up Front & Personal

Linda Dillon

February 12, 2015

Last night I went on a crying jag. After a pleasant enough evening, I went to bed and the tears started to come – gushers the likes of which I don’t think I had experienced since “Mummy” died.

Gasping, gut-wrenching sobs, drenching me and my pillow, a boohoo that wouldn’t stop.

At first I didn’t know what I was crying about – I am generally a pretty happy and balanced person. I didn’t think or know I had that much grief stored up inside of me.

I cried for all the friends I miss who have left too soon – for Ruth and Azurel, for Rosy and Andreina, for Reverend Richard, Jim and Harold. I cried for the lost loves of my life, for the friends I’ve lost and the ones who I loved who simply chose to walk away.

I cried for all the hurts I’ve caused, all the sorries I should have said. I cried for all the sorries I never received.

I cried for all the broken promises. I cried for being unacknowledged and unappreciated – by not being rewarded by God for the work I so earnestly do.

I cried because I’m sick and tired of debt – of paying a mortgage, a huge chunk to the IRS, unreasonable health care insurance. I cried because my cat died and I can’t adopt a new one because of asthma.

I cried because I didn’t lose 20 pounds in January without trying. I cried because I am no longer young and pretty. I cried because I’m a pathetic ungrateful idiot who has nothing to cry about, who doesn’t count her blessings. And then I cried some more just because …

Then the big tears came.

I cried because too many kids are hungry and alone. I cried for all the young girls who are pregnant and alone and don’t know what to do.

Normally I’m not an angry person but when I see those ads for wounded warriors on TV I go ballistic. So I cried for them, for their families.

I cried because I live in a country that doesn’t care enough – that creates war and terror and then leaves the wounded unattended. I cried for the loss of hope that so many feel.

I cried for those who don’t have enough to eat or know whether there will be enough food on the table to feed their kids. I cried for everyone who has ever lost a child.

I cried for everyone sleeping alone and lonely. I cried for those sleeping outside and cold. I cried because our sick and elderly are so alone. I cried for everyone struggling and dying of cancer. I cried for everyone who feels so unseen and unappreciated.

I cried because I miss my family, my sisters, my brother, my nieces and nephews. I cried because I miss my parents, my mother desperately.

I cried because I miss my star family and don’t spend nearly enough time with them. I cried because this mission and my finances don’t allow visits back and forth as I would like.

I cried because I have never been to Idaho to see Marianne’s farm. I cried because I won’t see my soul family and circle this year. And then I cried some more – because the sadness just would not let up.

I cried because so many people are heart-broken and alone and who feel that there is no love for them – that they are alone and unloved. There is no worse feeling.

Finally I breathed the blue breeze of peace and fell asleep.

As I awoke very early this morning I felt an easing in my chest. But within seconds the tears started again. None of this is rational and yet perhaps is the only rational response to world gone mad. Inside I could hear John Lennon serenading me with “Imagine.”

So I dragged myself out of bed to take the love of my life and my sweet comfort Eliza Rose for a walk. She cuddled through the tears and stayed close but “Come on, Mom. It’s morning and I’m happy with lots of kisses and love for you – let’s go.”

Thank God it was early enough so people couldn’t see this wreck of a woman walking down the street in her baggy sweats with her pajamas hidden under her jacket and her eyes leaking like Niagara Falls.

But then I breathed the early air of Gaia – the mist rising off the river, the sun just beginning to come up and shining gold through the pines, the beauty of sunrise on the savannah.

And I cried for the beauty – the beauty of Gaia, the sparkling of the dew on the grass, the quaking of the ducks flying over the river, the sweetness of my little girl so happy to be walking with her mom.

I cried coming home for the grackles cawing away as they eat up the seed I put out for them on this chilly morning. I cried at the sweetness of the cardinals who sneak in to get their share as they return to the nest they are building outside my door.

I cried for the new flowers I potted 2 days ago. I cried that I have a home, a beautiful home to come home to. I cried because I do have dear, dear friends who really love me – I cried for my sweet Annas, the New Youbees, my COL family, my InLight family, and my sweet considerate neighbors.

I cried because my Isaac is so patient even when he has no idea what triggered this deluge. I cried that I am so lucky to have all these gifts.

And finally I realized that I’m crying because I’m witnessing an old world dying – a reality I’ve come to know and in so many ways love. I’m crying because the new is being born and that moment of birth is terrifying and emotional and cannot carry the residue of the old.

It’s born fresh, anew and without the pain and grief of the parent. I get it. I let go, albeit still crying. I feel the war within is subsiding if not completely over. I feel at peace. Exhausted but understanding that this is part of the process. Thank you, Archangel Michael.

So if you are going through this my friends know you aren't alone. It’s letting go of that war waging within that you may or may not even have know about. But let those tears and cries of anguish come. Let go, surrender and keep going. Peace in here — finally!