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We’re having a full moon this weekend. According to some of my oracle cards, astrologically speaking, that’s a good time to let go. Of anything. (I think it’s in this deck. I have so many…but I love ‘em!)

And you know what? I’ve got some shit I want to let go of…quite a bit, actually. And I’m feeling pretty damned excited about it.

I haven’t decided exactly how I want to go about it, but the bottom line is I’m considering it all a celebration. Or at least, I’m sure the fuck trying to. That makes sense, doesn’t it? A celebration?

There are two main areas where I’m letting go. The first is just a package of stuff from around the house that belongs to my oldest kid. If you don’t know the story, well…I’m not going into it all now. That would just hurt again and pretty much defeat the purpose of trying to let go of all the shit.

There’s not much there, really. Just shit that I never threw away. Some boxes of contacts. Some figurines her Dad got her for Christmas one year. Not worth much at Ye Olde Pawne Shoppe, I’d wager. Leftover Lexapro samples. Those were helpful. Yeah. Uh huh.

Anyway, this package I’m mailing to her. I’m not sure why I kept that anyway. I dunno. It’s like a part of me was waiting for the past to reappear…for that sense of being connected to her, of feeling like our relationship was meaningful to her as well as to us, like I used to believe…and then, what? I’d give her back the stuff? I dunno. I guess, but whatever the fuck it was, that’s gone. It’s a past that may have only existed in my head anyway, to a large extent. It certainly wasn’t what I thought it was, because things wouldn’t be where it is now if it were.

I’ve done this before. Kept shit like it mattered. Back, not long after we lost custody of the kids, before we weren’t allowed to see them anymore. There was a little window there when we got to see them. Not much, but there was. It ended around Christmas one year. We had already bought some presents for them,  for the kids. All for a Christmas we never got to celebrate.

And you know what? I kept those fucking presents, already wrapped, stored away in a grocery sack in a closet for over 5 fucking years. Five years! How’s that for not letting go? That’s how long I held on to the idea that someday, I’d get to give them to the kids. Long after they’d have outgrown anything we’d picked out for their gifts. Some days, I would look into that closet, see those gifts, and cry. Sometimes, I’d move them to the back, behind coats and shoes so I couldn’t see them. Sometimes, I’d just look at them for no reason, like that would actually do something. Look at the packages, and try to remember what was in them. Try to imagine what the Christmas would have been like.

It didn’t help. And One day, I finally pitched ‘em. But that was a long time ago.

And when we lost custody, it was dumb, but one thing I specifically kept: my son’s social security card. He was 5. His bio-mom asked for it repeatedly, and I repeatedly ignored her requests. It was like, here is this tiny little thing, this little thing that doesn’t really matter, but if I gave it up, it would be acknowledging that they were never coming back, and I couldn’t do that in my heart. I already knew we’d never get to see them. That’s why we fought so hard; we knew. We knew. But handing over that card felt like accepting that as okay with me. It didn’t matter if it was okay with me or not clearly, because life is how it was. But I didn’t want to acknowledge it.

And you know, I’m sitting here crying as I write this–I still have that social security card! To this day. What the fuck is up with that? He’s no doubt gotten a replacement years ago. Having it didn’t do a damn thing. It didn’t change things or comfort me or help in any way whatsoever. But I couldn’t let it go. Or I didn’t, anyway. Maybe I should put that on my list. Maybe it represented my hopes for our future with our kids. That connection I’d wanted so badly with them while they were growing up can’t happen. It never did. So why do I still have it?

The other thing I’m purging? Court papers. I have a grocery sack full of court papers. We saved them, in case the kids wanted to see them, when they grew up. They don’t want them, so I’m ready to get rid of them. I can’t look at those papers anyway. I start feeling sick whenever that bag is opened. It’s like every fiber of every paper in there is infused with overwhelming emotion. And that’s how it was, back then. Enough so that I can still cry about it easily, although I don’t much like to.

And a couple of odds and ends. Some things I can’t purge that I’d like to…like, say, bankruptcy papers? But I can purge something representative of that, I think. Symbolic. A letter. A contract for a car that I might have foolishly cosigned for. Something like that.

I’m not sure how this is going to go, really. But I hope it helps. It’s not like I think of it every day anymore, or like I’m not happy or something. I’m very happy! I seldom think of it, but I feel like this stuff is still there, in my consciousness, and i think it limits me. The anger, the pain, the regrets and second-guessing and wishes and died out dreams that weren’t meant to be–all of it weighs me down in ways I don’t like.

Boy, I’m waxing pretty fucking poetic over a couple of grocery sacks full of shit, ain’t I? And ugly shit at that!

But it’s ok. :)

‘Cause soon, it’s going to be history. It’s not going to be a part of my life. And yes, I think that is something to celebrate. Send me good Vibes Saturday night, when the moon is full and my fireplace with be burning up all the painful past to make room for the magnificent now.

I like now. It’s the very best time to be in. Peace out from the Zen Goddess.