Let go and listen. . .

I'm finding that I'm not particularly fond of holiday week ends.  Their significance seems to me to have become lost over time.  This is "Labor Day Week End."  By today's standards, it merely indicates the fact that summer is now over, school students will be returning to classes if they haven't already, Monday will be a "day off" and on at least one of the three days, there should be a picnic.  Those things are all well and good, however, my own feelings about them have changed over the course of my journey, thus far. 

Things are different when you are the lone occupant of a household -- a "family" of one.  It's not that there is nothing for me to do or no place for me to go.  On the contrary, I am so very blessed by family and friends with whom I know I am always welcome to include myself at a moment's notice.  And I often do.  But there is something very different about so-called holidays now.  The first time I noticed that difference was Memorial week end in 2008.  I was caught off guard, wondering why I felt so excruciatingly lonely when there were many things I could be taking part in with any number of people.  "It's not like I don't have options," I thought to myself.  Painful as it was, I was curious about this line of thought and intrigued by the fulfillment of further insight if I were to follow it through.  So, instead of choosing one of the more comforting options -- surrounding myself with people, I immersed myself in yard work and let the thoughts flow. 

Afterwhile, clarity began to unveil itself and I began to understand this "difference" I had been questioning.  Of course, it's different!  Everything is!  Nothing will ever be the same again!  They are the facts and cannot be changed.  All the wishing and pretending in the world are not going to change the facts.  That established, I began part of what I call the letting-go process.  After all, I had practice.  I had already said good-bye to the growing-family days back when we became "empty nesters" and a family of two.  Still, we had each other, we were a team -- an "us."  We made decisions about holiday activities (or lack thereof, since we liked puttering around home the best).  Now, here I was letting go again and stepping into a place so foreign to me.  "I am a spectator now," I said out loud.  But it was okay, somehow.  It wasn't self-pity.  I thought, "How lucky we were!  We were young and had a dream and we lived it!!  Wouldn't it be selfish to say it wasn't enough?"  (But I still wish it could have been longer.)

That May day, in the yard has been a source of comfort, strength and guidance for me through many holiday week-ends, ever since and I am grateful I made the choice that day to stay and "listen."  Sometimes we forget to listen.