parents

 I had a dream about my dad last night. He had a couple of shopping cards filled with what looked like junk that he was trying to give away, along with a raggedy, stained stack of photocopies with some sort of explanatory manifesto. My brother was yelling at him that this was just a stupid waste of time - no one wanted what he was giving. But my dad tried to explain his carts were filled with broken phones and cameras and he thought they might help people somehow. 

It was such a powerful dream I woke up thinking my dad was trying to be in touch with me and that I should reach out. That hasn't worked in the past. We've only spoken a couple of times, or maybe even once in the past 14 years. It wasn't a blow up parting of the ways, more a wicked stepmother who reveled in making me feel bad and me growing past that point. Healthy and good. Helped shape the parent I became and perhaps, more than likely, I swung too much in the opposite direction but I wanted my kids to know I had their backs no matter what. And they do.

So, I'm sitting with reaching out and knowing it won't get me anywhere and feeling residual sadness but also light at letting go of destruction and hurtful situations. Life sometimes is about that - knowing when it's time to let go.