Changes, Vienna and Christmas...

A dear friend and mentor has been diagnosed with stomach cancer.  He is on hospice care in his home.  A couple weeks ago, I sat by his side, talking about our usual stuff: his old jobs making jokes on the radio, the ins and outs of Hollywood, what a dirty old man Henry Miller was.  After ten minutes our conversation halted; we both recognized it as pointless and he sent me away.

There was a feeling of rejection when I left him; I sobbed that day.  Essentially I wanted things to be the way they've always been - the two of us talking writing, and he telling me stories and giving advice.  Things can't be the way they've always been.  My friend is shifting into a new state; his relationship with everything, including me, is in flux.

At the same time, I've been spending lots of time trying to convince my parents to get together for Christmas.   Christmas is a sensitive time in my family; this year my mother flat out told me she wants a break from the holiday - that she would prefer to spend the time alone with my father.  Again, I hung up the phone feeling somehow rejected - why, oh why, can't things be the way they always were?  I would show up at their house, my nuclear family in tow, and we'd all cook wonderfully calorie laden Italian food, and exchange gifts before launching into a debriefing of uncomfortable, but repetitive family issues.  

I longed for my mother, the same way I longed for Bill.  I wanted her to relate to me the way it's always been.  I felt the same clutching, clinging in my gut as I did with my writer friend.

In the meantime, my daughter Anne Monique, received early acceptance into Columbia College in New York.  We are all so proud and happy this week for her, we can barely contain ourselves.  She has worked harder at her schooling than I ever thought possible; Columbia has been her dream goal for years.  Things are about to change, big time, when she moves.

To be able to release those we love without withholding and judgment, to exist in the world without fear, to remain open and expanisive, moved by spirit - these are the challenges of letting go.

Of course my daughter must leave on her own, just as this Christmas it may be appropriate not to rush anywhere and to let go of traditions, just as I must let go of my dear friend.   I wish Anne Monique full and complete freedom.  I let go of all clinging to her and my mentor and my mother and self.  I'm floating in the moment where I must be now - into the place where I can trust.