Embracing Shattered Pieces: The Art of Letting Go
ENTRY ONE — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — 11th Jan 2017
For a little over a month now, I have debated putting these memories on paper. The fear that writing it down would inevitably make it real has held me back. However, the thought and concept of the previous month being a reality are way too damning for me to approve, much less accept. Attesting to these incidences would mean coming to terms with the fact that my life will never be the same again… but here goes.
Exactly two weeks before Christmas, we got into a heated argument over something so stupid and minuscule. In retrospect, most of our disagreements are always like that. But in the heat of the moment, it feels like life and death. My stubborn, egotistical nature never likes to be wrong; I would never give you the chance to finish your sentence without interrupting. However, this argument was different.
Normally, you would scream back and counter with your own point of view. Then, I would call you a liar and tell you I don’t believe you. We would continue our screaming match until one person finally yields or someone understands where the other is coming from, and we try to settle amicably. But our screaming matches always result in you apologizing. You always apologized after we fought, not that I didn’t… I guess yours was always more genuine, and I could see it in your eyes that you meant every single word you said in the apology. But this time, you didn’t do any of that. You just glared at me for what felt like minutes. Then, without a word, you took a coat off the rack, opened the front door, and looked back at me. In that moment, I could tell this time I genuinely hurt you, but I didn’t care; I was too rooted in my anger. I planned to apologize and make things right, but I just couldn’t bring myself to utter those words. And with that, I watched you leave, your footsteps echoing in the distance until you left our floor. I remember every single detail of this argument because when you came back, everything changed.
I still remember the morning of the next day like it was yesterday. I walked into the sitting room after a sleepless night, and there you were, standing in the living room. You stared at me, your eyes cold, dark, and empty. Without a word, you walked away, and that has been my routine… my life in a nutshell. Every morning, I walk into the living room, and I find you there, looking like you’re in the process of making your morning coffee. You stare at me and walk away. Sometimes I try to initiate conversations with you, but nothing changes, nothing prolongs your stay. It’s always the cold, empty stare, and in a matter of seconds, you’re out the front door.
Every Christmas Eve, you and I always had this tradition. I would make our special eggnog and spike it with your favorite type of cognac. We would drink while playing Monopoly and other board games. When that got tiring or we were too inebriated to make logical decisions, we would decorate our Christmas tree. And you always found a way to get me under the mistletoe, a part of our evening that I loved, and you knew it. So this Christmas, I waited patiently, made the eggnog, and even added extra brandy just the way you liked it. I anticipated your arrival…
…but you never showed up.
I couldn’t bring myself to decorate the tree. I couldn’t bring myself to pack it up either, so it stayed there over Christmas alongside the box of decorations. Then the New Year’s celebration kicked in, but by then, I had already become a shell of myself. I hadn’t left the apartment in days. I couldn’t bring myself to respond to the numerous calls and text messages left by our friends and family. One time, I heard a knock on my door and the familiar voice urgently saying, “Reema, come and open the door, I’m fucking pressed.” The urgency in your voice made it sound so real, and for a moment, I thought you were finally back. The first thing I planned to do was hug you and tell you, “I’m sorry; I would never fight with you again, and I mean it this time.” I rushed to the door, and my doorway was empty, not a single soul on our floor. Shutting the door behind me, I turned back to face our small apartment. The empty tree, devoid of ornaments, stared back at me. And that’s when I noticed it: a cluster of vibrant green oval leaves adorned with small pale ivory berries, suspended in one of the branches; a mistletoe. I walked closer, inspecting it.
When everyone was outside chanting the 10-second countdown to the new year, I was on my knees, crying and begging the almighty to please take me away. I didn’t want to live anymore… how could I… you’re not here.
And there I was, fetal position, in the early hours of the morning but still dark outside. My front door was bolted shut, but somehow, someway, I saw you make your way towards me. It was you, still you. I raised my head up, face partially covered in snot and tears, and I stared at you. For the first time in what felt like years, you smiled at me. Your eyes were warm and inviting; you didn’t glare. You knelt down beside me, stroking my hair. Your hands felt so cold, icy even. I managed to let out a mumble saying your name, which only made me tear up. You placed the mistletoe in the palm of my hand, closing it tightly. Then you spoke. I didn’t realize how badly I yearned to hear your voice until you said those words: “Reema, it’s okay. I love you, and I always will, but you have to let me go now.” I could only let out a whimper amidst nods. I knew I had to let you go, but I just couldn’t. We stayed there in that position, crouched down, hand in hand. In that moment, I felt peace. I was so rooted in the state of ataraxia that I must have fallen asleep, because when I opened my eyes, it was past daybreak, and you weren’t there. I felt a mild prickly feeling in my palm, and there it was… the mistletoe, or rather, what was left of it.
My morning routine was the same as always, the only difference being you weren’t there by the coffee table. The random knocks on the door stopped; you didn’t show up randomly, nor did I see you roaming the corridor halls as I had multiple times over the past weeks. You just never came back… something I have to accept and move on from. I have no other choice because I know you will never come back.
How could you?
When we just buried you yesterday.
In the grand symphony of life, where joy and sorrow weave an intricate melody, one of the most challenging notes to strike is that of letting go.
As sentient beings, we are intertwined with bonds and connections, When we love, we do it so deeply to the point that letting go feels like going through the worst pain imaginable. Most people would rather remain in unhealthy settings, regardless of the situation because they would rather put up with the normalcy they are used to than sever ties and bid farewell to a chapter that was etched deeply into their souls…because normalcy is easier than change.
“Loss” “grief” “breakups” and “splits” are not mere words, but profound experiences that sculpt the contours of our hearts, carving valleys of pain that reveal the depths of our emotions. They are emotions that every human being at some point has or will experience but just because this is a general concept doesn’t minimize how hard it can be to move forward when we’re holding onto memories that hurt. It’s like trying to heal a wound while keeping it open.
Reemas first entry, is witnessed through the lens of a heart-wrenching account, serves as a poignant reminder of the excruciating journey that accompanies the release of what was once so dearly held. Her story resonates with the piercing anguish of unmet expectations, the echoes of heated arguments that still reverberate, and the emptiness that gnaws at the corners of one’s existence. Each detail explaining the ways in which the claws of memories cling stubbornly, refusing to release their hold. It is in these complexities that we discover the maze like web of emotions that follows loss; grief that transcends the boundaries of time, the struggle to make sense of an altered reality, and the relentless ache of a void that can never be filled. But in this sad melody, there’s a note of hope. The pain we feel isn’t the end of the story, it’s just a chapter. As we face our emotions and let ourselves feel the sadness, acknowledge and accept it is only then that we will begin to find healing. It’s like turning pain into strength. Reema knew all along her partner was dead but she couldn’t come to terms with departing with him because she wasn’t ready to let go, she still had expectations, regrets, and occasions she vowed to do over. But sometimes in life, there are no do-overs.
Moments like these in life, you only get one chance.
Yet, in this symphony of sorrow, As tears fall like raindrops onto the parched landscape of a grieving heart, they water the seeds of a new beginning.
The process of letting go, though arduous, is also an affirmation of our capacity to heal. It is an acknowledgment that the pain, the memories, and the love are not terminated but transformed. Just as a caterpillar surrenders to the chrysalis, emerging as a butterfly reborn, so too do we emerge from the cocoon of loss with newfound wings to navigate the world.
Grief, often mistaken for a stagnant state, isn’t something that stays forever. It’s more like a river that guides us to a place of acceptance. It is the acknowledgment of our emotions; the anger, the denial, the bargaining, that ultimately leads us to the shores of understanding. Just like Reema, we must face the ghosts of unresolved conversations, the residue of unsaid words that linger like shadows. To journey from the depths of heartache to the heights of healing is to honor the memories that were, to acknowledge the pain of their absence, and to embrace the transformative power of release.
Breakups, too, carry their own symphony of emotions. Two souls that once danced in harmony are forced to part ways, and then a mix of emotions ensues; anger, regret, and perhaps even relief however It’s important to remember that even though things are changing, the love and memories aren’t lost. they create a tapestry of lessons learned, moments cherished, and a future rewritten.
They become a part of who we are.
In this journey, we become alchemists, transmuting the lead of pain into the gold of growth. Each step away from what was marks a step closer to what can be. We learn that letting go is not synonymous with forgetting; it is an act of profound courage that allows us to honor what was while making space for what will be. Just as a tree releases its leaves in the autumn, allowing them to return to the earth, enriching the soil for the cycle of rebirth, so must we release what no longer serves us, allowing the soil of our souls to be nourished for the emergence of new experiences.
Ultimately, the journey of letting go is not one of erasure but of transformation. It is an invitation to evolve, to find solace in the fractured pieces of our hearts and to use them as stepping stones toward a brighter horizon.
As we write the narrative of our lives, Just as music has high and low notes, we encounter moments of crescendo and decrescendo, and it is in the echoes of what was that we find the strength to whisper the words, “I release you,” and in doing so, we free ourselves to embrace the symphony of what will be.
