Learning to Let Go. . .

Tonight is the annual Northeast Parade. Held right in the neighborhood, it is the dirty, smell parade you love to hate. And I go every year.

But I am no longer in denial about Lyme Disease. So, I weigh things differently. My energy is so precious. As much as I love my neighbors and friends, I’m not using my energy that way.  No KQRS vans, no excessive diesel fumes, no judgment over the serious garbage that is generated during the event. I just let go.

Grief is one of those things that takes a long time to hit. At least for me. I keep myself too busy. The boys are up at Grandpa and Grandpa’s house. That’s what Fiesty Boy calls it. Even though he knows that Grandma lives there. They are swimming, rolling in the grass, frying up deer ticks for dinner, summer fun in Minnesota.

I am so exhausted that I’m not even worried. Grandma is an expert tick checker. Fiesty won’t take his meds so he is not protected from a new infection, but I’m so tired and so needing a break. So I sit, writing, resting and dreaming.

I love my children. And I wish I could have a week like this every month. I think it would be healing for all of us.

So as they swim and laugh and get too much sun, I grieve.  For the lost time, for the lost moments, for never being able to be the parent they so deserve.  The parade goes on, like always.  And I let go.


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