Relinquishment and Renewal

Pi Patel and Tiger Adrift

We relinquish so much, as we age, don't we? Often we relinquish our physicality, and with it, our sense of wellbeing. Buddhism has a great deal to offer concerning the need to relinquish gracefully. One thing my Christian friends and I share is learning to drop the need to control everything and everyone in our lives. As a Navy brat, I moved with my parents constantly. My father would get his orders, and, poof! Suddenly we would adapt to a new coastline, mountains, climate, culture, address, school and work. I would cross my fingers and toes in each new venue that the people, animals and things I'd come to love would not melt away. It was never to be. Nor was goodbye always possible; some years, school would let out for a break, and I'd never return.
     Worst of all, I never was able to say goodbye to my father, before he died, and I became estranged from my mother several years before she died. My father, simply, boarded a train bound for Bethesda Naval Hospital, barely a gray hair on his head, tan, fit and rugged ... never to return alive. My mother had never been a stable woman; she grew less so with the passage of time. My parents were throw-aways, orphan kids no-one wanted, who, miraculously, had found and clung to each other. 

I suppose in the end, the whole of life becomes an act of letting go, but what always hurts the most is not taking a moment to say goodbye. -Pi Patel

     So much of what I know, I learned from my parents' lives. The two were polar opposites. My father had begun facing down death at a very early age, not just because he was orphaned young, but because he had fought in two wars. He was generous to everyone he met, to my mother's chagrin. He lived completely in the moment, was creative, imaginative and spontaneous. My mother was a hard-working, focused, frugal, woman. She knit or crocheted constantly ... never had her hands or mind on idle. An expert seamstress, Mother could tailor a suit or coat. Before a sewing project launched, however, the house had to be immaculate. She was anything but fanciful. Wherever in the world we lived, my mother would go twice a month to a bank, and deposit savings for my parents' retirement, for a life they would one day enjoy.
     The day came for my father to retire from the Navy. He wanted to hunt and fish, until he dropped dead. My mother's part of the dream was a beautiful home. We came to Colorado, to the Western Slope in the early 1950s. All the retirement savings were stolen by a contractor. Within two years my father was dead of pancreatic cancer. My mother never saw a cent of his retirement pay. She became a workaholic, a civil servant, until she died.
     I've relinquished careers and jobs, spending all my savings, any number of times in my life. Recent history is no exception. It makes life so much more difficult, but it also simplifies everything. Letting go is an art and, often, the wiser choice. It beats the hell out of tooth-grinding stress or resentment. 
     More important leaving and letting go open the portal to change, new directions to explore, new paths to follow. In the end I may have to relinquish my very life. In the meantime, my life and learning have made me a seeker. 
     My best advice, although I hate giving advice and virtually never take it, is not to dwell in the past or the future. Never doubt there are great adventures and riches in store. Here's to what lies ahead, my friends!