Dear Eddie, Letting Go is hard, especially when I am not sure what I am hanging on to. I am sure this problem applies to things, to behaviors, and even to dreams. It is not the first time I have had this problem. Before I can let something go, I need to name it.
This truth was most recently pointed out to me by a Telephone. We have wavered for years about disconnecting the land line at our Michigan lake house. The excuse has been that cell service was terrible there, and we needed the house phone for emergencies. We have indeed had emergencies there when I was glad for a house phone. Likewise, we did have to go to the dock or hug the picture window in order to get a cell connection. Hassles with the phone company twice yearly about moving the phone on and off of Vacation, and paying too much for the few weeks of service we needed were a royal pain. You would say, “Get rid of it.” I would make the call to do so, and waver again. So, why was I holding on?
It looked like I was holding on to telephone service. I was holding on to a black rotary telephone that sat on the telephone table of my childhood. It wasn’t even the actual phone we had; our phone like it gave way to a Touchtone Princess Phone and a kitchen Wall Phone—still ancient of days. But this table sat in the upstairs hall at home beside the laundry chute. I dragged the phone around the corner into my room for privacy, tucking the cord under the door, sitting backed up in a corner. And, yes, talking with you, never long enough, when we were separated in the summer.
What finally came to me and made me cry was that I was holding on to a sound. The phone at the lake had mechanical bells that jangled. When you said ‘hello,’ the vibrations could still be felt in the air and heard by the caller on the other end of the line. You could hear that phone ring all the way down on the dock. That sound belonged to a another time. Saying forever ‘goodbye’ to the sound and the time it represented made me cry. Still does- right now.
I disconnected the land line. I am letting go of another physical piece of my childhood and youth. I can smile through the tears because I have named the loss. I can relegate the ring of a rotary phone to sweet memory. Now, I will need to apply the learning the next time that I find myself hanging on a little too hard to something. When I am being a little too much of a hard head, I will ask myself what I am holding so tightly. I will ask for your help. Thanks for listening to me and not laughing at me. Love, Sylvia