The story
Letting go
What even is that? Everyone keeps talking about letting go, but how do you actually do it? Letting go of things that no longer make you happy.
Letting go of things you once loved doing, but can’t do anymore. It hurts, but you get used to it. A kind of grief for the person you used to be and can’t be anymore. A piece of yourself, gone.
But letting go of your child is a whole different level. Nobody warns you for the grief of someone who’s still alive, still calling you mama. My heart, beating outside my body. Walking away from me, a little further every single day.
And I’m happy. I am. Watching her become more herself, more brave, more her. It’s the best thing I’ve ever witnessed. But somewhere underneath that joy, I’m mourning. The baby who fit in one arm. The toddler who needs me for everything. Versions of her I didn’t know I had to say goodbye to, until they were already gone.
Nobody tells you time steals them before you’ve even finished loving who they were. I don’t feel done. I never feel done. She’s already the next version before I’ve caught up with the last one.
Does it ever stop feeling like that? Like time is stealing her from you, one version at a time?
I wonder if horses feel this too.
