The art of letting go

“Where did the teddy bear pictures go?”


I smiled when Evelyn called this out from the bathroom yesterday. Her brother had asked me the same question earlier. It made me feel good that they even noticed.

Today there is a big burgundy tin star on the downstairs bathroom wall. It was 50% off at Joann’s and I like those big stars, even though I’m sure they are “out” now that they’re appearing on the sale racks. The color is good for our downstairs bathroom; moreover, I thought it would be a good exercise for my “letting go” muscles.

John and I moved into our house in 1986 and those pictures have adorned that room for almost that whole time. One little teddy bear is unraveling toilet paper; the other pouring a mischievous pile of talcum powder. I remember the day we bought them so vividly that I’m sure that is one reason why they have hung there so long.

We were probably in Bed and Bath for some necessary item for the new house when we saw the pictures. John and I looked at each other and smiled. Why they were so captivating to us initially, I can’t really tell you, but I know that we were very thrilled to be trying to have children. Maybe the teddy bear’s antics held the promise of the crazy kind of fun you have with little ones. Maybe we could smell the baby powder and the promise of the new stage in our life together.

During the next eight years the little bears seemed to mock me as we struggled through infertility treatments, pregnancy loss, more infertility treatments, and the maze of adoption efforts. I kept them hanging there, stubbornly insisting to myself and the universe, that there would be children’s messes in the house someday.

Sometimes not being able to let go can work to your advantage. I kept myself busy by mailing hundreds of letters and contacting anyone I had ever met to find adoption leads. Even with all these efforts, we felt lucky to be chosen by two brave and loving women to parent their babies. Birth is a miracle, but being able to let go of your own needs and do what you think is best for your child is beyond miraculous.

Because of these extraordinary mothers, I have experienced so many joyous and messy moments over the past sixteen years. Now the tiny hand that once gripped mine is shifting the gears of the car as she drives me home from the grocery store. I hear a deep voice in the family room and realize that no one else is visiting, it belongs to our thirteen-year-old son. My body’s own biological changes are obvious when I look at the little teddy bear and tears well up, unbidden. Losing the job that I found fulfilling for the past five years is undoubtedly heightening my emotions.

Sometimes holding on is appropriate. Sometimes you have to let go gracefully and with great love. Am I failure at my letting go exercise because the teddy bears are still in my house, stored downstairs where I can look at them if I want to? The past sixteen years have flown by compared to the agony of when we were waiting to become parents. Everyone’s journey is their own, and I will just have to listen to my heart—it hasn’t let me down yet.