Letting Go

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, the idea of letting go. It's an idea I'm remarkably bad at. Even when every fiber of my being is screaming, "This is a bad situation, this is wrong," I hang on. It's how I ended up married to the wrong man: we'd been together for three years, I wasn't going to just give up because I wasn't happy, of course I'd marry him when he asked. It's how I ended up doing all kinds of things I knew I didn't want to do, but by God, once I was in there, I was going to win. And then came Lyle.

Here's the thing about Lyle: he's not only going to die, if you look at his bloodwork, he's already dead. Forget the fact that he was chasing bumblebees last night and is rolling around on the bed play-fighting with Mona right now, his BUN number which should be between 7 and 25 is 165, and his creatinine which should be between .3 and 1.4 is at 9.8 (anything over 5 is end stage kidney disease). Those aren't just bad numbers, they're impossible. Our vet, who is wonderful, doesn't understand it and neither do I. And yet Lyle keeps on trucking.

Normally, this would be all I'd need to saddle up and save that dog. But the fact is, Lyle's going to die, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to save him. Nothing. All I can do is keep him comfortable and then when he begins to suffer, let go. I've tried to save other end stage pets. They stop eating and I force feed them, I medicate them, I get them operations, but the truth is, when it's time to go, animals let go. If I don't let go with them, it just prolongs their suffering. It is not a kindness, it's not smart or good, to hang on. The smart, kind, natural, good thing is to let go. I think that goes contrary to everything in our culture–we're Americans, we win at all costs–and in my nature. Giving up just feels wrong, not just with Lyle but with everything. But one of the greatest life lessons I have to keep learning is that everything has its time, and no matter how wonderful that time was, when it's over, it's over, and holding on just delays the next stage, whatever that is.

I'm thinking of it more and more because more and more I'm realizing that I'm coming to the end of my novel writing career. I hate that. I've had so much fun, it was so exhilarating, plus it was really lucrative. But the things that I want to do now are different, and while I'm shoving them aside to work on my novels, every instinct I have says, "This is not where you're supposed to be." Letting go of a great career is not easy, and I'm not sure I'm ready yet, I've still got books I need to write, but the blood counts on my novel-writing are going up like Lyle's.

Maybe it's not so much letting go as it is embracing change. Everything changes, everything evolves, everything turns into something else, and accepting that as good, even if it's incredibly painful, is the only way to move on to the next step, the next series of wonders. Letting go is only bad if you don't move forward with your eyes and arms wide open. Letting go of Lyle means losing him, but maybe there's something spectacular waiting for him around the bend. He'll never find that unless I let go. And I'm pretty sure there's something amazing up ahead for me, once I finish these books, once I think about where I could go and what I could do.

But, boy, this is not easy. Going to go cuddle Lyle now. Because I'm just not ready to let go yet.