Tags:
Journalism of Courage
I always thought 8216;letting go8217; had to do with an attribute in oneself, a state of mind to be acquired after much effort. But in my case this was not so. I lost a much loved father who taught me how to let go: it was not his death, but watching the way he had lived that made me let go. His death brought into focus his life in all its clarity.
His was such a beautiful journey that when the final curtain call came, he went away taking all my grief with him. Letting go just happened because he let go for me. I was supposed to sob and cry. I didn8217;t. I was to have gone through waves of depression. It didn8217;t happen. I even began to wonder if there was something wrong with me for not feeling any of these feelings.
My father was a very loving person. But affection for him was not about being emotional. It was all about expressing it in the simple, daily acts of living 8212; saying a 8220;thank you8221;, or laughing uproariously at a comical situation, or even in imparting a word of encouragement to someone that was full of feeling.
His words, his love, his benevolence 8212; he has filled me with so much that letting go of his physical form seemed small in comparison. I realised, in a way, that I didn8217;t have to let go of anything. His presence in me is larger than life. And that is not because of me, but because of him and the person he was.
When love is that unconditional, it leaves the recipient only enhanced. He was the giver and I, the taker. But, in the process, I learnt how to give too. And, in that, I felt a sense of completeness. There remained no place for sorrow. The pain of his going was thus taken away from me. I let go, I surrendered and I got it all.
