The land is sold. The small piece of dirt that held some of my husband’s dreams belongs to someone else. Sold.

He can no longer drive by and look across and think, this is mine. He can’t plan for fencing or cattle or trapping muskrats on prairie soil owned by him.

He was so excited when he bought it. I was excited for him. He seeded the hilly land back to grass and sold it for years as standing hay. It was a good arrangement with a good guy. But one day, he always thought, one day it will be paid for and I’ll do something more with it. One day, I’ll do it myself. One day …

One day turned into too much to do and not enough time, and time passing and children growing and other dreams. And the letting go is for something new. And it reminds me again of goodbyes and hellos, and the ebb and the flow. The going and the coming that brings with it pain and pleasure. Both.

Boys almost men. Younger self giving way to older woman. Dreams and wishes left behind in the reality of circumstance and situation. And I fight it because it seems that the thing had is better than the thing to come. But as tightly as I grasp it, it slips away. The children grow, the hair greys, and isn’t it better to let it go, open the hand, release it? Because grasping, holding … it doesn’t work. Holding tight only makes the inevitable more painful. More wrenching.

I know better. Experience has taught me better. The experienced have taught me better.

Submission to the letting go to make space for something new. Or different. Or inevitable. Daily I am taught this. I am trying to learn this.

Opening the hand.

Because, really, it is just dirt.

Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Matthew 6:19-21

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