If I can let you go as trees let go
Their leaves, so casually, one by one;
If I can come to know what they do know,
That fall is the release, the consummation...
If I can take the dark with open eyes
And call it seasonal, not harsh or strange
(For love itself may need a time of sleep),
And, treelike, stand unmoved before the change,
Lose what I lose to keep what I can keep,
The strong root still alive under the snow,
Love will endure - if I can let you go.
Things keep shifting, yes? I want to write about the epiphany I had a few weeks ago when I finally found I could put the co-sleeper and the Jumperoo in the closet, and how happy I was to find that my connection with Sage is not about these things.
I want to write about the kindness of friends who have looked tenderly at Sage's photo album or gently touched the memory quilt, or who sat with me while I cried... or cried with me.
I want to write about gratitude, but in this moment all I can think is . . . LOOK at him! Look at how he stuck out his tongue, and how his hand rested so casually on mine. Look at how much I loved being his mama!
Thanksgiving is the 8-month anniversary of the accident.
I hold on AND I let go . . .
and love endures.