Val spent her eighth birthday with a fever skipping between 105F and 108F. She also puked, had some very explosive diarrhea and many long, loud farts. She was weak, her stomach hurt like crazy and there was nothing to be done about it. She had a strep throat infection on top of gastroentritis.
Still, she did not forget to ask for her little clay pig. She did not forget. She wantd me to unlock that glass display cabinet, take that pig out, and hand it over to her possession.
***
You see, 2007 was the year of the pig in the Chinese caldendrical cycle. It was not just the year of the pig, but the year of the golden pig. very special. Couples flocked to get married in that auspicious year and couples tried in earnest to bear a child that will be born in that once-in-a-lifetime-very-lucky year. Although we said we would have a third child, our plan was (and I had to snicker at myself here) to start trying towards the end of 2007. Well, I was already pregnant before 2007 even started. Bur it was ok, with all the excitement over the auspicious porcine year, we thought, it all turned out well after all. (except it did not)
So, I saw this idea in a magazine about making clay pigs with children to celebrate the porcine year. Cool idea! Neat craft! So, we bought air-dry clay and set about to make a family of pigs- papa pig, mama pig, pig girl one, pig girl 2, and of course baby pig. It was not as easy as the magazine article promised, just slapping a few shapes together. There was a lot of groaning and complaining, and we had some fantastic-looking creatures that did not looked the way Nature had intended. Still, we managed to get the little pig family together, and painted them, with a lot of fun.
After the paint dried, I proceeded to put the pigs into our display cabinet. Except Val protested that she did not want her pig (that is, pig girl 1) in the cabinet- it belonged to her and she should keep it herself. We explained about not wanting it to break, how it looked nicer, this little family of pigs together in the cabinet and all the usual nonsense, and in the end she consented that chances are she could break it but we have to give her pig to her when she turns eight.
OK. Deal.
(Although I did secretly think she might forget, or she might come around to wanting to see the cute pigs, all five of them, huddled together, never to be separated.)
Oh, but she did not forget. Not even when she was so sick, we were getting ready to go to ER. Clearly 108F fever did not burn her brains, as we feared, but instead gave her clarity of mind to remember and demand that pig from us.
I unlocked the cabinet, removed the pig, and gave it to her. Later I saw she had left it carelessly on a table.
***
My grandma has said so often, Empty hands come, empty hands go.
Life, when I come to think of it, is sometimes so ridicuous in how we gain something in order to lose it. How we acquire something only to lose it. Like, we are born to die. We mature into (hopefully useful) adults and then deteriorate into senile, bothersome creatures. We grow up in order to age and die. We learn, and forget. Flowers bloom, to wilt. And so on, and so forth… … Life is really about learning to let go. To learn to let go, first we need to possess, to gain, to have. Then, we have to let it go. We will find loved ones, and then be separated, by death or otherwise. We acquire dear possessions, only to have them tarnish, break, or lost in the shuffle of life.
Life is a series of letting go.
(With Val’s uprising, Sophia decided that she wants to have her pig too, except she wants it when she is ten.)
So, while I initially had cunning arguments to persuade Val to keep the family of pigs together. I let go, gave it to her, allow life to dictate the fate of that little clay creature.
Now in the cabinet stands papa pig, mama pig, pig girl 2, and baby pig.
(And one day, it will just be papa pig, mama pig, and baby pig. And I guess it will stay that way.)
Baby pig, of course, represents Ferdinand. And so much more.
It was our idea of our family complete. It was our longing to experience what it would be like to have a little boy in our family. It was the dream of so many things, crushed.
Now, it is a reminder of, so many things. Of our family tragedy, of the horror, the grief, the pain, the long ache that lingers. It is a reminder that we cannot plan, that we have no control, and that we gotta let go.
So, when I handed the pig over to Val, it was also an informal ceremony of letting go. I let go of my dream of a beautiful birth in water, surrounded by Nature. I let go of the idea of having a son. I let go of the original plan of having three children being just perfect and wonderful. I let go that Ferdinand cannot be made to stay. I let go, I let go. I let the dreams go poof, I let everything unravel… memories flooded back, tears surged.
***
In some ways, that handing over found me some peace. But first my entire being was flooded with pain, anger, sadness, deep grief, intense longing and so many questions and internal screams.
Then I realized it was a chance to let go.
So I did.
I know I have much more to let go, in so many aspects of my life. And I know I have yet to truly let go the ache of Ferdinand’s absence (and truly, the idea of impermanance), but I am making small steps. tiny, tiny, tiny steps.
oh my god janis. you have it SO RIGHT. i’ve been struggling with the feeling, i don’t know, something like, ‘i know what it is to get older, to feel emotionally tired, to surrender,’ but really it’s more like what you’ve said. life (getting older) is learning to let go. i think i’ve been struggling because youth (not your age) is not having to let go…fighting against letting go…of whatever. learning to let go…gracefully, peacefully…is it possible to let your unborn baby go gracefully and peacefully? sometimes i feel like that’s a form of denial (which i like, which scares me into thinking it’s not healthy), but what other choice is there? i don’t think i have any others. learning to let go. you know, since the week i found out i was pregnant (unexpectedly), one of the first thoughts i used to build myself up was, ‘i don’t have to send the three off to kindergarten, out into the world (let go), and be alone…i will have a three year old.’ paige, from the very first moments, i thought, would ease my first letting-go. in reality, she taught me more than i ever wanted to know about letting go…
Wow, I cannot fathom how I can let go. I still cling to the idea of what it would have been like to raise him. Maybe one day, I’ll learn to let go and be content that I was able to carry him.
Mr. went to a reception the other night for new parents at Bella’s school. The headmaster apparently told some touching story about how our live as parents are so contradictory; we essentially hold our children close in hopes of keeping them safe and preparing them to eventually leave. He likened this to taking a child to the shore, and coaxing them, bribing them, willing them into the water. And a few years later standing at the same shore screaming at your child, “Get back here, now!!”
And I thought: Good lord, he doesn’t know the half of it.
There’s willfully letting go, and there’s having things ripped from you and having to let go after the fact. And that doesn’t make the first type any easier, sadly. Happy Birthday Val, feel better.
I hope Val feels much better soon.
Letting go is terrifying for me, even though I know I have much to let go of. I think that tiny steps are also very big accomplishments in this respect.
Love to you.
These are lessons I need to keep practicing. Letting go of control, because if Lucy’s death has taught me anything it is that control is an illusion.
This is a beautiful post, Janis, as always. Hope Val feels better and ended up having a good birthday
trying to just be over here too.
and, i guess that pig could always get broken in the cabinet too
Guess what! I tagged you in a meme!
There’s something in this idea of letting go, the only way of thinking about losing her that’s brought me anything close to peace. Luckily I’ve never been able to agonize over, not really, the details of what age she’d be now, what she should be doing if she had lived. I think somehow I let go of her having a fully imagined life in the outside world fairly quickly. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t let go of the hurt and anger that she died before really living, period. The should have, the supposed to.
But maybe there’s something in this idea of letting go of the life I wanted her to have – a version of the lesson every parent needs to learn, taken to the extreme. Every parent has hopes for their child that can’t be realized. In my case, the hope was simply wanting my child to live. Somehow, I need to accept that that’s just not who she was. Just like she might have become a banker instead of an artist, like she might have rejected everything we value and become completely unknowable.
I honestly can’t decide if thinking this way is a way to peace and emotional evolution or just a bit twisted and delusional. I’m hoping for the former.
Happy Birthday, Val. I hope you feel better soon.
Letting go is something I find very difficult. Your “tiny” steps are impressive.
I am trying to let go myself. Some days I feel as if I am successful and then other days I know that’s just denial. I think this will take the rest of my life to learn this.