Goodbye old friend

Some things in life become far more than what they were ever intended to be.

A favourite chair becomes Dad’s chair.
A battered old car becomes part of the family.
A particular mug becomes the only mug you want to use.

And, apparently, an old bag becomes a member of the family.

My husband, Si, has had his bag for more than thirty-five years.  Thirty-five years!!  Now, Si has had many things for a very long time….it’s what he’s known for, but I wasn’t expecting him to be quite so attached to a bag!  I’ll explain..

When he first started working in the hotel industry, that bag was his trusty companion. He would ram it full of his dirty clothes, sling it over his shoulder, climb onto the back of his moped and take it home to his poor mum, who would then presumably wonder why she’d brought a son into the world only to become his personal laundry service but secretly love that he still comes home with all his washing because it meant he came with it.

The bag did its job.  And it did it well.

For decades, it went wherever Si needed it to go. It carried clothes, belongings, memories and, no doubt, quite a lot of things that were probably better left unexamined.

Then, many years later, the bag found itself with a new purpose. Until recently it has been the receptacle for decorating equipment such as old sheets to lay down for when we paint, but just recently it has been promoted to chief swimming bag.

Every morning, we head down to the sea, and that old bag comes with us.  It carries our swimming things, towels, clothes, flasks of coffee and everything else we need for our little morning adventures.

It has been a trusty sidekick, but just recently it’s showing it’s age…places are starting to tear, and there are now holes in seems.  Si holds a lot of emotion for things he owns, he remembers all the memories attached, in ways I couldn’t even comprehend, and he feels it all deeply.

His old bag is dying.  The straps are giving up. The fabric is tired. The years are beginning to show, and Si is genuinely upset about it.  He keeps saying how sad it is.  And I understand, because when Si looks at that bag, he’s not really looking at a bag. He’s looking at thirty-five years.  A younger version of himself, at hotel days and moped rides. Remembering his mum and all the places that bag has been and all the things it has carried.  He’s looking at a little piece of his history.

But here’s the thing.

I think we sometimes get letting go completely wrong.

We think that letting something go means we didn’t value it.  We think that moving on means we have forgotten.  We think that replacing something means that what came before wasn’t good enough, but perhaps letting go can actually be an act of gratitude.

That bag has done its job, it has given 35 years of service.  It has carried dirty clothes to Mum’s house. It has carried swimming gear to the sea. It has been thrown down on beaches, stuffed full, emptied, soaked, dried and used again.

It has been there.

And now it is tired.

So perhaps the kindest thing we can do isn’t to keep forcing it to carry things simply because we’re frightened of saying goodbye.  Perhaps the kindest thing is to say:

Thank you…for all the years, for all the journeys, for being there, for carrying what you were asked to carry.

And then let it go. 

A new bag is arriving later today.  I have no doubt that tomorrow morning Si will proudly sling that new bag over his shoulder and head off to the sea with it.  He’ll probably love it.  He’ll probably tell me how much better it is, and then, five minutes later, he’ll probably say:  “It’s still sad about the old one, though.”

And I’ll smile.

Because that’s the bit that matters.

We can welcome something new while still loving something old.  We can be excited about what is coming without pretending that what has gone didn’t matter.  That’s one of the most important lessons life teaches us.

There are people we have to let go –  homes we have to leave  –  jobs we have to walk away from  –  dreams that change shape  –  friendships that run their course  –  chapters that end when we would rather they didn’t .

The ending doesn’t have to rewrite the beginning.  We don’t have to reduce years of love, laughter, adventures, lessons and memories to the sadness of the ending.  We can say:  It was good while it lasted.  I am grateful that I had it.  Now I am ready for what comes next.

That’s what I think Si’s old bag has taught me.  It doesn’t need to be made into something it isn’t anymore.  It doesn’t need to be kept until it completely falls apart in our hands.  It has already done enough.  More than enough.  Thirty-five years is something to celebrate.

So perhaps, when the time comes, we’ll give the old bag the send-off it deserves.

Not with sadness alone, but with gratitude.  We’ll thank it for its service and send it off to the great big bagging area in the sky.

Tomorrow, we’ll take the new one to the sea.  Because life keeps moving.

The tide comes in.

The tide goes out.

The sun rises.

The seasons change.

Things wear out.

New things arrive.

Like the people who come in and out of our lives.  Through it all, we are collecting memories.  Some stay with us forever.  Some have to be released.  That doesn’t make them any less precious.

So here’s to the old bag.  Thirty-five years.  One hell of a life.  And a very good job well done.

Thank you for your service, old friend.

Now rest your weary straps.  You’ve earned it.  Perhaps that’s what letting go really is.

Not forgetting.  Not failing.  Not admitting that something wasn’t worth having.

Just being brave enough to say:

I am grateful for the time we had together.

I will always remember what you meant to me.

And now, with love, I let you go.