BRAD DYE: Sending gifts to the universe and letting go

Published 9:30 am Wednesday, August 10, 2022

“It’s easy to see that you’ll get where you’re going,

The hard part is letting you go” — Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit

The week had flown past. As much as we wanted to press pause and slow down our last few days together before he left, there was no slowing down the reality that he was about to be gone.

In all honesty, I had always believed that it would be his older sister that left us first. She, I believed, would be the one to move across the country (or the world) and leave us with an empty space in our lives, but I thought that we would have him for a little longer.

He would be at Mississippi State for another four years for vet school. We would have him here for at least that long. It was one of the reasons that moving to the farm was so appealing. He would be just a few minutes away, I reasoned.

Selfishly, that meant that I would have him close enough that we could get in a few turkey hunts in the spring or perhaps a fly fishing trip during his spring or summer break and a deer hunt or two while he was home for Christmas. However, the reality of life is that plans change.

The last weekend in July we had both Tate and Dan home to celebrate Dan’s 22nd birthday and having both of them with us in church that Sunday made the weekend even more special. Dan spoke that morning during the Sunday School hour to a packed room at Episcopal Church of the Resurrection about his recent pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago.

After his Camino hike or, more accurately, before, during, and after his Camino hike, Dan had done some heavy soul-searching about his future. Ultimately, he made the decision to give up his spot in vet school in order to pursue another calling.

Thursday night we helped him finish packing his car and Friday morning at sunrise we hugged goodbye and, between the tears, gave him all the last minute parental driving reminders we could utter before watching him head down the driveway and out of sight on Brooksville Road.

He was headed to Cody, Wyoming, for a year of service and discernment at Christ Church Cody with the Episcopal Service Corps. Having him home had been wonderful, but G summed it up well in her assessment during our drive home from church this past Sunday that we were re-living the “empty nest” all over again. We were both in a funk over the weekend, riding a rollercoaster of emotions from high to low.

Technology was a huge comfort as we tracked his progress across the country–Mississippi, Tennessee, Arkansas, Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming. I wondered how the families of the pioneers and explorers did it going weeks and months on end without communication, without knowing.

Monday, as I reflected on the pain of letting go, I was reminded of the writings of author Robin Wall Kimmerer and her beautiful words about parenting. In her novel “Braiding Sweetgrass,” she writes, “It is the fundamental unfairness of parenthood, that if we do our jobs well, the deepest bond we are given will walk out the door with a wave over the shoulder.”

I thought about that as I drove down Highway 45 Monday morning in the early morning mist. When I caught sight of two wild turkeys, both jakes, feeding in the tall grass alongside the road, I wept. It seemed only yesterday that Dan was a “jake,” leaning over my shoulder as I threaded his fishing line through the eye of a hook or looking wide-eyed after hearing the gobble of an approaching turkey.

Now, he was 1,300 miles away on the other side of the country preparing to start his next adventure, the next phase of his life, and we were left with an empty hole where he had been.

That evening as I walked down to feed the goats, I thought about something else G had asked me. “Does he feel as far away as he did when he was in Spain?” As I stood thinking about that in the pasture while looking at the azure sky, I realized that I was connected to Dan by both–the same ground and the same sky. I felt immediately closer to him.

Again, the words of Kimmerer came to me: “We are showered every day with gifts, but they are not meant for us to keep. Their life is in their movement, the inhale and the exhale of our shared breath. Our work and our joy is to pass along the gift and to trust that what we put out into the universe will always come back.”

If you haven’t read “Braiding Sweetgrass,” add it to your reading list. It is, in my estimation, nothing short of brilliant. Now, it’s time for me to plan a trip to Wyoming, I hear the fly fishing is phenomenal! Until next time, here’s to the courage to follow, the strength to let go, and the hope that gets us through, and here’s to seeing you out there in our great outdoors.

Email outdoors columnist Brad Dye at braddye@comcast.net.