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Letting Go
By Makasha Dorsey
Today, I said good-bye to my child. After
months of poking and prodding, I had to let go.
Last night, I tossed and turned. The inevitable was fast approaching and I
wondered if I was equipped with the courage to flip the switch. Could I stand by
and watch as the life I had worked so diligently to create pass on into what I
hoped to be a promising afterlife?
The afterlife. Only a handful of people have crossed over to and returned from
the dreaded abyss. Even fewer will speak of it. Maybe they really forgot what
traveling to the other side was like. Or, they've been sworn to secrecy. Either
way, my beloved will be sent off to charted waters although they have purposely
been unrecorded.
Sleep finally finds me.
I wake up early after my most peaceful night's rest in more than nine months.
I'm refreshed. I wished that fate didn't have to step in. I want to keep my
little angel to myself. I knew it was impossible to do if I really wanted
destiny to be a part of our lives. Prayer and an open spirit granted me peace.
After breakfast, I chose the best outfit possible to insure she was presentable
for her journey, the one I could not accompany her on. Dressed in all white with
tiny black specks, she was a vision fulfilled. She was past presentable, she was
as perfect as a mother's love.
In a small room filled with spectators I ran my fingers across the tiny little
box holding my precious one. I examined each corner to make sure it was of the
highest quality. She deserved the best. I spent a bundle to make sure she
traveled safely and comfortably-- even if she couldn't feel the bumps.
"Next!" the woman at the counter yelled.
I walked to her station and handed her the box. I managed a weak "Hello."
She smiled. Sweat beads covered her nose. Until then, I had not realized how
warm it was in the crowded building. My thoughts had me in another place.
"Ma'am?" Madeline said trying to get my attention. I noticed her name on the
large blue badge that was clipped to her lapel.
I let out a sigh. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"Where to? You forgot to put the address on the package."
"Oh, I'm sorry." I reached into my purse, retrieved the typed delivery label,
then handed it to her.
She smiled again. She said, "A literary agency? I remember when you sent out
your queries. Judging by the size of the box someone wants to read it."
"Yeah. I'm so nervous." I was amazed that she even remembered me. Thousands of
people enter the doors of the post office everyday.
"That will be nine dollars and sixty three cents." As I dug for my Visa, she
said, "I told you someone would bite. I had a good feeling about you."
I paid the postal worker and took one last look at the box. Part of me wanted to
grab it and take it home so I wouldn't have to face the scrutiny of the world.
Instead, I pulled myself together, watched the woman place my manuscript in a
bin, and left that part of me behind.
Today, I said good-bye to my child.
Makasha Dorsey is the author of The Church House
(Forest Wade Press). She is currently speaking throughout the southeast on
women's issues and the black church. To learn more about Makasha or to purchase
The Church House, please visit
http://www.dorseypublications.com.
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