Growing pains

People often say they love someone, but words alone aren’t enough. For love to be true, words & actions have to align in meaningful ways. Sometimes love is shown by staying, carrying, witnessing or doing the difficult thing. Sometimes it is shown by holding on. Sometimes, perhaps most painfully, it is shown by knowing when to let go.

Finally, my mum’s house has sold. I loaded the 20 boxes containing the remaining treasures into an Ireland-bound lorry, signed the contract & handed over the keys. Then I walked through the house alone, moving from room to room, ceremonially severing ties, cutting spiritual cords, thanking the memories & releasing them with love.

I imagined taking my inner child by the hand & telling her that this chapter was over. We had learnt everything we needed to learn here. My mum’s part in my life was complete, not because I no longer loved her, but because I no longer needed to remain tethered to the places, possessions & pain that belonged to a life that had ended. I closed the door for the final time.

It felt like a rite of passage & an important part of grieving. I cried big tears, alone, with my brother predictably nowhere to be seen. Once, emotions of that size might have overwhelmed me, but they no longer feel as though they will consume me. They are passing spectres, asking to be deeply felt, acknowledged & released. Grief, sadness, anger, relief & hope can exist together. None cancels out the others.

Underneath them all was an inner knowing that new chapters can only begin if we dare to close the doors behind us. We have to be willing to forgive what we can, release what we must & step courageously towards a life we can’t yet see.

One of the treasures coming with me is my grandfather’s carriage lamp, a poignant reminder that courage can overcome most things. He was a vet in rural Ireland before cars had reached that part of the world. When an animal or person was sick, he would travel through the darkness on his pony & trap, guided only by this red oil lamp. Its glow moving through the night told people that help was on its way.

I’m grateful to have inherited his love of animals, courage, tenacity & bravery. The lamp may only be an object, but it carries something larger for me. It connects me to the people I came from & reminds me that I don’t need to see the whole road ahead to keep moving. Sometimes we are guided only by the small amount of light we carry with us. So the lamp is coming with me, not simply as a family possession, but as a ritual object to guide me through whatever darkness lies ahead.

Grief has taught me that there is love in holding on, but there can also be profound love in letting go. Losing someone or something we love can give us the opportunity to appreciate it in its fullness. By permitting ourselves to experience the depth of our grief, sadness, anger & frustration, rather than rushing to escape them, we are given opportunities to heal, love & grow.

Perhaps that is why they are called growing pains. Growth asks something of us. It stretches us beyond the lives, relationships & identities we have outgrown. It asks us to release what is complete, even when we have loved it deeply, & to trust that letting go doesn’t erase what happened. The love, memories & lessons remain, but we are no longer required to live inside them.

Before I left, I offered this ceremonial prayer:

I honour the connection that was & release it with deep love. I call back my energy & return yours to you, whole, complete, free & clear. I sever all unseen cords with gratitude for the lessons learned. May we walk our paths in peace, unburdened & unbound. So mote it be.

Then I closed the door, carrying the treasures that still held meaning, leaving behind what no longer belonged to me & trusting the small light that would guide me onwards.

What are you ready to release with love, so you can step into the life waiting for you?