Letting Go (February 2017)

I attended a golf clinic recently, but was it a lesson about golf, T’ai Chi Chih or life? One pro said that everything about golf is circular. He suggested not striking the ball but simply lifting the club and letting it swing in a smooth rhythm, and playing the game with a soft right-hand grip and without any effort. Another pro, Jeff, said my stance looked like a question mark. He backed me up to the golf bag support and said to pretend that it’s a wall and to lean back on my heels as though sitting down on a stool. We were reminded to keep the head steady, to breathe, relax and let go of any tension. Sound familiar? Jeff suggested each time we approach the ball that we unlearn or let go of something that’s getting in our way. As we begin a new year I’d like to let go of a few things.

Dad, you did the best you could with limited finances, health issues, multiple children and at your young age. A lot of the drama was the fear of a young child. I didn’t wish your death or cause it. Forgive me for not acknowledging all that you gave me: your chin, eyes, love for music, sense of fun, love of surprise, instilling my view of what’s right, my moral standards and my love of God. And especially thank you for my brothers and sisters. I love you, Dad.

Mom, I made you a saint but you were just my mother. Thank you for providing so well for all of us especially after dad died. Thank you for giving me great hair, a warm smile, your large heart and even your varicose veins. And for encouraging my faith, appreciation for music, ability to cook, clean, organize and care for myself and others.

Great Uncle Dick, I apologize for holding you responsible for mom’s death. I made you wrong for driving the car that night. You didn’t kill her. That was just me trying to understand why you would get to live another fifty years after she died.

Glenn, I thought at one point in my life that I hated you, but I just hated the way you were being. I apologize for not trying harder to understand and help you. Thank you for giving birth to my best friends, including your oldest son whom I married.

And Mark, I love you but please know that if you changed everything about me, I’d be you.

“It ain’t nothin’ ‘til I call it,” said 1953 Hall of Fame Umpire, Bill Klem. So I’m calling for 2017 to be extraordinary.