What I think that I know about life, growth, and evolution, is that I do not let go of things, or surrender, until I am damned good and ready. At times, this can create immense suffering for me; for in holding onto to anything in this life, we suffer. However, I also trust my inner knowing to indicate to me when I am ready to release something that has felt scary to let go of.

Last weekend, I spent some time in West Brookfield, Massachusetts, a quiet, sleepy town that I spent much of my lifetime in. I didn’t live there my whole life, yet it is the closest place to feeling like home to me to this day. The charm and quaintness were only shadowed by the presence there of members of my family. And the house. That amazing, old, character filled, memory laden house. I came to that house when I was only a few months old, and have been physically craving visits in it the rest of my life. And, this week, it was sold to a person that I will most likely never meet, and who will now take it forward into the next phase of their life.

This particular chapter, which was a lifelong one, has been closed. And, I was finally ready to let it go.

Two years ago, that home was still occupied by my Aunt Ruth, and her cat, Josh. Before that, it was she, and my grandparents, and before that, it was my grandparents, Ruth, and her three siblings, one of which is my dad. A lot can happen in two years, and in these past two years, Ruth has died, Josh has come to live with us, and the home that I knew only as hers for more than twenty five years has been sold.

And, I’m good. I am ready to surrender all of that. 

When I visited the house last winter, the feeling when I entered it was sharp, biting. There was an edge in it that hurt when I would bump against it. But, at that time, she had only been gone for a couple of months, and everything seemed to still feel sharp and edgy. Being there was a flood of memories, and I spent time sitting in each room of the house, opening closets and drawers, smelling the smells and taking in the details of it as if I had never seen them before. I felt a sense of abandonment, as if I was abandoning it and her, as I walked away that day. 

Last weekend, the goodbye was different. I didn’t feel her in there anymore, and it didn’t seem to have anything to do with it being empty. It seemed to have more to do with her flying high, and long gone from the tethers of the physical world. She is so free that she is everywhere. At least, that is what I believe.

The front porch is one of my favorite spots there, and one that I will miss the most. And, although I don’t live in the past, nor do I even focus on my personal history much anymore, I will recall with deep love the times of sitting on that porch, watching people walk and drive by, saying hello, talking with Ruth while the breeze  was coming through the screens. One last time, Brenda and I sat on that front porch, soaking up all that had been there. Deepening our readiness for change. 

After all,  none of life is there, in those four walls. It is in Me.