Letting Go

It was a beautiful Chol Hamoed morning, which was quickly turning into afternoon, as we spent hours on the phone deciding how to spend our day. We were in our late teens, getting ready to take our first tentative steps into the real world - too grown up for rides and amusement parks, but not quite ready to give them up. We finally settled on a trip to Astroland, where we'd hold on to our childhood for just a little bit longer.

The park was crowded and the lines were long as I waited for my turn on the water flume. I watched a family climb into a boat, and I smiled in anticipation as I saw the boat begin its plunge, its occupants screaming in delight, their arms waving in the air.

And then I watched in horror as the boat suddenly flipped over, spilling all who were in it into the water and onto the tracks. I watched in a haze as they stood up, blood running down their faces. All around me, people were screaming and running to help, while I stood frozen, numb, unable to move.

I never talked about what I saw. I couldn't. I just wanted to bury it somewhere deep inside me and never think about it again. And I was successful - during the day. At night, the images haunted me, robbing me of my sleep. Every time I'd close my eyes, the scene would replay itself in slow motion. For weeks - maybe months - I was afraid of going to sleep. Afraid of the flashbacks and the nightmares.

And I promised  myself that when I'd have children, I wouldn't allow them on these rides. I'd protect them.

Years passed. I got married and had children. And I didn't keep my promise.

My little boy's day camp sent a DVD of last summer along with the camp application. He happily relived the excitement of camp as he watched the video. He showed me the carnival and the magic show and the trips. He was thrilled every time he caught sight of himself. And then he showed me the major trip.

My older boys are more cautious, but my little boy is fearless. There is no ride big enough or wild enough to scare him. He'd try anything. Until now, I naively believed that the height requirements would keep him from riding all but the tamest of rides. Apparently, he'd grown past those requirements a while ago. I was uneasy as he showed me the rides he'd been on and told me about the new amusement park they'd be going to this summer, with even bigger and better rides.  But I put aside my anxiety and smiled as I shared his excitement.

I made a promise to myself many years ago, but it is a promise that would be unfair to my children. I may be uncomfortable with some of the things they do, but I can't let my fears deprive them of a normal childhood.

Sometimes letting go takes more strength than holding on.

I can't always protect them. I need to let go...to let them fly....and let Hashem take over.