Letting Go

Just a few years back, I had eight grandchildren under the age of ten. They all lived minutes from my home and I spent as much time with them as possible. I knew all too well from raising my own kids that childhood is gone in an instant.

Most of the time we just played—messy, loud, wild fun involving creeks and salamanders, paints and any flat surface, lawn sprinklers and popsicles, harmonicas and firecrackers.

But some of the time, I spent teaching, especially traits and attributes I thought had been most helpful to me in life. For example, I intentionally demonstrated patience and respect of others when the traffic light turned green and the car in front of us didn’t budge.

I reminded them always that hands are for helping, working, creating, playing, and expressing affection—not anger or hurtfulness.

I also modeled perseverance by unflinchingly tackling broken bicycle chains, cracked whiffle bats, and headless teddy bears until they were fixed. Patiently connecting and re-connecting webs of video game power cords one by one, over and over. And unsticking, unscrewing, and untangling a seemingly unending amount of stuck, screwed on too tight, and tangled objects.

 I’m not sure which one of the grandkids said it first, but the phrase they eventually came  up with to associate with me was, “Nana never gives up.”  

Now that most of them are teenagers, however, I’m making sure they know the difference between “not giving up” and “letting go.” Recently, on the way back to the high school after an orthodontist appointment, my eldest grandson was talking about relationships.

Mostly I listened, but at the end of the conversation, I reminded him that while I am notoriously persistent in working on what needs to be changed in my life if it is within my power to change it, I am getting better and better at letting go of those things that are not within my power to change. The key to success, I told him, is knowing which is which.

He grinned and said, “Yeah, I know, Nana. Love you.” And with that, he grabbed his backpack, closed the car door, and took the school steps two at a time.  I watched him disappear through the doors into the high school world of uncertainty, ups and downs, pressures, and difficult choices... and then I let him go.