The tiger-striped towel hung sadly in the bathroom towel ring, it’s silver stripes half bleached and side seams bedraggled. I looked at this once cotton masterpiece, this towel I love, and realized — I should get rid of it. When I found this hand towel years ago at TJ Maxx for a “deal”, I was super excited to put it in my bathrooms. But here we are, many years later and it’s tattered and ready for the trash.
I, however, can’t let go. I feel silly even spending time thinking about this worn-out towel. Of course, the only reason I’m perseverating on this is that this tattered towel represents something deeper in me. Something crying out to be attended to.
I let myself concentrate on the towel. This towel owes me nothing. It’s served, the good soldier that it’s been, its full tour of duty. It has gathered the wet drops of my hands, my husband’s hands, the hands of my children, my children’s friends, my entire family. It has absorbed and dried, absorbed and dried. It’s been through 1000 spin cycles. It’s done its job. But I can’t let it go. Not just yet.
Why can’t I trash it? After all, I’m on Alejandra-inspired clean out mission and have already let go of things of far more material value. So, why do I insist on hanging on to this tiger-striped hand towel?
In this pause I realize something. This towel is my dream, it’s my hope, it’s my vision for my house and my family. I bought it when we first moved into our home 10 years ago, and in between it’s threads, lay the vision for what I wanted my family’s life to be.
It’s silly perhaps, but my heart breaks for this towel. I can’t throw it out. It would be throwing out my dream of where I want life to be. And life, knock wood, turned out relatively great. So what am I doing?
Maybe for us sensitive souls, letting go, even grieving the little things, is difficult. Yes, we feel so deeply and trust so completely. Grieving can be a sharp reminder that this world is an impermanent and fleeting thing. And that is uncomfortable.
So, I hold this soft, thread-bare towel in my hands. And I know it’s time. Time to hold the past in my heart and not in my palms. Time to grieve the loss of not just the towel, but the growth of my children (a healthy letting go), the aging of my mother, the growing older of myself and all those whom I love dearly. Yes, our relationships become more precious as we get along in this life, but some of the things that travel alongside the passing of time make us downright uneasy. Not just Not easy-but UNeasy– you know, the bristling feelings that accompany letting go of what we cherish.
There is no doubt that some people and certain things will always glisten in the substance of our souls, even if they’re no longer physically here. My dad no longer walks this earth with me, nor my Aunt Mary, or many of my relatives and friends whom I’ve had to say goodbye to way too soon. And so, no, I can’t hold their hands, or look into their soft beautiful eyes. But, if I’m paying close attention, I can hold their memory, the feeling of love they gave me, the feeling of our connection, somewhere deep in my heart. The tiger-striped towel may no longer rest on my gleaming chrome ring. But my memory that as a younger woman, I held a dream for my family –that will. Perhaps our task is to weave the threads of our hopes and love so completely into the fabric of our being. That way, when the physical expression fades or even disappears, the roots of the past still glow with meaning and depth in us.