Things We Carry: The Struggle to Let Go

Lately, the back seat of my car has becoming cluttered with these things I carry.

There's a book of poetry to read to my mom. It's there as a faithful passenger, should I spontaneously have some time to stop by my mom's memory care to read her some poems.

Lately, I've also been carrying a torn grocery bag of cookbooks that I never really resonated with and other things to give away.

There's also a pair of beautiful designer shoes that I can no longer wear because of the arthritis in my toes.

On the back seat floor, there's a glow-in-the-dark bracelet my granddaughter made at a museum I took her to last year.

Yesterday, I finally had a little time.

As I went through the torn bag, I found two shirts of my mother's that I'd hastily put in the "give away" pile.

They were shirts I bought her.

She liked to go shopping with me.

It was one of the few places she really valued my opinion.

She liked my style and trusted my eye for her.

As I tenderly hold up the shirts that have laid crumbled in a torn bag, I have an epiphany.

These two shirts are actually my style. Maybe now, more than ever. The lines are just right for my small frame, just as they once were for my mom. I take them back, carry them up to my condo and hang them front and center in my closet.

I'll keep the bracelet there in the backseat, too, so when my granddaughter gets in the car again -- now without her booster seat -- she might be surprised by the memory of that day at the museum.

I found a couple of other shirts I didn't care about and added those to the give away bag. Then I drove to Salvation Army, wearing one my mom's shirts.

When I returned from my errands, my granddaughter’s little bracelet glowed in the dark of my underground garage.

Sometimes we hang onto things a bit longer for a reason.

What are the things you're hanging onto?

What can you let go of?