Hanging on & letting go


It’s late afternoon. Zach’s been sleeping on the living room couch with courtroom reality shows playing on TV. I’m in the kitchen making a salad for my dinner. He pauses the show, then cusses as he pushes himself off the couch. The footrest clicks shut and I hear him take a cautious step. Balance check. A couple minutes later, he’s at the refrigerator refilling his water bottle. He’s been really good about staying hydrated. I decide to check in. 

Zelda: So, how you doin’?


Zach: [His back is to me, but I’m certain he rolls his eyes.] How you think?


Zelda: I don’t know. That’s why I ask.


Zach: I’m hangin’.


Zelda: Like the kitten in that poster? "Hang in there baby"?


Zach: Yeah. Only I’m hangin' from a ledge by my fingernails. My busted up fingernails.


Zelda: Sounds exhausting. 


Zach: Almost as exhausting as your questions.


Zelda: Can I be serious for a minute?


Zach: I don’t know, can you? 


Zelda: Might be time to let go.


Zach: Of the ledge?


Zelda: Maybe. 


Zach: To be clear, what’s the ledge in this scenario? Hope?  


Zelda: No, don’t let go of hope. The ledge is more like…things you’re hanging on to that that you don’t need. Things weighing you down.


Zach: You lost me.


Zelda: What are you hanging on to that doesn’t make sense any more?


Zach: How ‘bout these? [Shakes his hips and his trousers nearly slide off his butt before he catches them]. None of my clothes make sense any more. [He’s dropped almost a hundred pounds over the past couple years.]


Zelda: So, let them go.


Zach: And go naked? [Arches his back to stick out his skinny belly.] 143 pounds of burnin’ love right here!


Zelda: Or, and stay with me out on this, you could get drawers that fit.


Zach: Boring. What about you? What are you hanging on to? 


Zelda: Hmmm…


Zach: How ‘bout those tubs of wine corks you're saving for an art project you'll never do.


Zelda: Those are classic corks! And I have cool ideas.


Zach: Or that weird plastic toucan.


Zelda: It's sentimental. Reminds me of that trip to Hollywood.


Zach: Here's an easy one: Let go of the idea that it’s your job to get me to eat.


Zelda: I'm only trying to help.  


Zach: I don't need that kind of help. And you don’t need to save me. You can’t save me. 


Zelda: Copy that. You know, we've already let go of a few things that don’t work for us any more–like evening cocktails. When was the last time we had martinis or margaritas?


Zach: Before chemo, probably. But I still like a snap now and then. 


Zelda: Hang on to that. 


Zach: Way ahead of you. [Gets a rocks glass and pours himself 2 fingers of whisky. But he’ll only drink one before calling it a night]. 


Zelda: Back to that ledge. What if you let go of the feeling that you have to hang on.


Zach: And freefall?


Zelda: You might land on your feet, like a kitten.


Zach: Right.


Zelda: Or maybe you have a parachute you don't know about, and you'll glide to safety.


Zach: Whee.


Zelda: Maybe you’ll find out you can fly.


Zach: That would be cool.





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