When We Let Go

by Rochelle B. Weinstein

And I wonder why the ones who need love the most are so difficult to give it to.

I lightly touch his cheek and tell him I love him. I tell him I’m sorry. I tell him I wish I hadn’t been such a coward, that I didn’t ruin our shot at another chance. But that’s what I do. I break things. People. I make horrible things happen.

One glance at Elle, and I know we have a long road ahead of us. It’s useless to sugarcoat the adventure we’re about to embark on. Two damaged women without any direction.

AVERY BECKETT, YOU ARE BIGGER AND BRIGHTER THAN THE SUN. OLIVER & AVERY TLF

“I think we have some of our old Halloween costumes in the attic,” Willow says. “The devil or witch might suit her.”

One day at a time means no end in sight, only another tomorrow. There are no catchy phrases to make suffering go away.

Sometimes the things people don’t say hurt worse than the things they do. It’s just the way of grief and loss. People think they’re doing you a favor by avoiding the tougher subjects, but the silence only makes the absence bigger, deafening.

“The blueberries and stars aligned.”

remember. I came home and drowned myself in one of my concoctions that promised to mend a broken heart.” “Does that kind of tea really exist?” She laughs. “Yes. It’s called vodka.”

“You can’t love me! Not here. Not in this chaos.” “Isn’t that love?” he asked. “Finding the calm in all the chaos?”

“Being strong . . . it doesn’t always mean being tough. It means letting those terrible feelings in, not pushing them away. It’s letting yourself feel all of it.”

“See how quickly things change, Avery? You need to grab sunshine when you can. The real tragedy is living the rest of your life in the dark.”

“Mistakes don’t make you a bad person, Avery. They make you complex and human. Own them. Or the only person you hurt is you.”

“There was a boy. We loved each other. I thought we had all our lives to be together. But a tragedy struck, and we couldn’t be together anymore. I lost him. I lost love. And I . . .” I’m inches from telling her the rest, but I can’t muster the courage. “Just know that relationships are far more complicated than they appear. And sometimes you can love someone and find it difficult to give love. I’m not making excuses. I’m just trying to figure it all out.”

“I’m scared.” “I know,” I say. “I’m scared, too. But think of it this way, we’re scared because we care. Imagine not caring at all.”

And I begin to understand more and more what it means to be a parent. It’s hoping for the best while advising and consoling, knowing there are never guarantees. It’s saying the same thing over and over again until it sticks. Never getting tired. Never giving up. And it’s never walking away.

We spend the next twenty minutes or so listening to Taylor Swift and Harry Styles

“You listen here, Miss Elle, your garden’s growth is a lot like life. First, you need a vision for it. A plan. What do you want it to look like? Then you need a strong foundation. That starts with rich, healthy soil. For you, that means education and good habits, prioritizing. Preparation is key.”

“Your garden and dreams require an investment of time,” he continues. “You’ll have to be patient . . . learn to trust the process. And above all else, heed this advice. Much like life, your garden is going to face unforeseen conditions. Temperature. Wind. Soil. Water. You’ll have to manage your expectations, accept that some things are beyond your control.” We all know what he’s getting at. A garden, and the hours spent tending to it, can be instantly destroyed by drought or hungry deer. No matter how well we prepare our little plot for success, fate can intervene at any turn. “Do you know how to respond to that?” he asks.

father. “You can’t,” she says. “You just have to keep going.” “Atta girl.” He smiles. And then he turns in my direction to be sure I’ve heard.

my father gave me some advice. I didn’t understand it at the time, but it was pretty simple. He said when we stop dreaming, we die. I’ve taken those words with me, even when I refused to believe.

“Our role as parents shifts with each phase of our children’s lives. I knew I would have to love Milo differently because of his loss, and he would love me differently for the same. My father’s words found me that day. Our dreams are the dreams we wish for our children. I had no choice but to keep dreaming. Keep believing. It kept me going. It kept all of us going.”

But when you love someone and lose them, you find yourself a little lost. And afraid.” “That’s really sad.”

“Holding on to pain, Elle—what I’ve done and what you’ve been doing—it’s no way to heal. We can’t love or be loved with all that anger inside. Or regret. Or fear. We have to let it go.”

Missing someone you’ve loved and lost doesn’t come with a roadmap. There’s no knowing when the ache will creep in, knocking you flat.

I’m telling her to let it out, telling myself, too, tears forming at our bittersweet connection. I tell myself to inhale the future, exhale the past, and soon we’re holding on to each other tight, our arms encircled around each other. I love this girl, love what she’s come to mean to me. Love her as though she were mine, and it’s terrifying and it’s scary, but it fills me with hope, too.

“You’re very brave, Elle Masters. And all that you’ve experienced is going to make you stronger than before. You can be sad and you can be scared. But you can move on. And let people love you.” “What about you? Can you do the same?” “I hope so. I know I’m going to try.”

“Is it normal to feel like this?” “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but yes,” I say, thinking of Oliver, thinking of Jude’s fingers on my skin. “Love, in its many forms, guarantees two things. It can burn us, but it can also surprise us. In the best possible way.”

“I miss her a lot. I want to talk to her. And when I talk to you . . . or when I need you . . . I feel bad . . . because . . . if I love you . . . does that mean I love her less?”

holding on to those you’ve lost means you’re living in the past. And if you’re living in the past, you’re not really living.

“Ollie,” I whisper. “I’m going to let you go now. Is that okay?” And this time, he doesn’t answer. Oliver is gone. Our big, beautiful love story has come to an end.

“I’d been holding on to the guilt . . . the horrible memories . . . thinking I didn’t deserve love . . . couldn’t be loved . . . but last night . . . this summer . . . even you and Cole . . .” I feel my voice cracking. “I finally understand what it all means. Love comes with risks. We can’t always protect the people we love, but we do our best. Because we really don’t have any other choice.

“Your mother would be so proud of you, Elle. And if I’ve learned anything this summer, the people we’ve loved are always with us, even when they’re not. Hold on to that.”

Let this family love me. Let them feel the love I have for them. Let us live a beautiful life, safe and healthy, while special angels look over us.

Let her say yes next time.

And I think of all the storms we weathered to land in this place. The broken dreams. The prayers we cast off into the sky. And I know now that endings bring forth new beginnings, and letting go means you’re alive.