"I did it for you, because I knew you never would." I heard those words as I looked across the yard at my beautiful daughter with a shovel in her hand and a smudge of dirt on her face. "Go get them and come here" she said. With a slight pause I turned back to the barn and picked up an old, dry rotted pair of leather boots. She smiled at me as I walked toward the 22 year old woman I raised. "You said you would do it tomorrow, but I know you won't. Put them in the hole." I stood there holding a pair of rotting boots that I had carried around with me for years. At one time they were in the garage, then under the stairs, I moved them to the attic, with their most recent home being a cabinet in the barn.

You know those things you don't really want, but you don't know how to discard them? I mean the things that hurt when you think of not having them anymore, but they also hurt you to hold on to them too. How do I let that go? How will I feel when it's gone, and I can't get it back? Why does this seem important to me and is it really something I need to keep?

That's how I feel about these boots. Many people would question why I would want such a thing. Some would never consider discarding them. While some may even think its morbid I ever had them. My father was wearing these boots when he was killed in a traffic accident on Christmas Eve many years ago. I can't be certain how I obtained them. Cleaning out my grandparents garage I think. These old leather boots are a reminder of a person I wish I had known longer. A person I wish I could talk with today. A reminder that my life could have been so different. Maybe better, maybe not, but I'll never know. Would I have made different decisions; would I be a different (hopefully better) version of myself if he had lived to help raise us? Many questions to which I'll never have answers.

Sometimes we just have to dig a hole, bury it, and let it go. Let go of the unanswerable questions, the fantasy of how our lives might have been different if the course of events had been changed, the pain that just wants to hang out forever with no meaning, and the barriers that keep us from moving forward to something new.

I am grateful to my daughter who could see I would have never buried those boots by myself. The daughter I would not have if those boots didn't exist. The daughter whose strong resemblance to my father's mother is striking. The daughter standing there burying her grandfather's boots whom she never met.

She and her beautiful sister remind me of how wonderful things can come from great hurts.

Sometimes we need someone to push us, someone to dig the hole, and stand there while we drop everything in the dirt. Other times we can do it alone.

So much hurt and sadness associated with those boots. It was time to let them go. I can say that about so many things in my life. I will embrace the good and the bad for the lessons I have learned, but I will teach myself better methods of letting go.

I hope more than just those boots went in that hole."

Debra Pettit Bruns

Debra Pettit Bruns

It hurts to let go, but sometimes it hurts more to move on. I didn't realize how much those words meant until that Friday afternoon. My mom had talked about burying those boots for the past 12 years. "I'll do it tomorrow," was all too common when the conversation struck up at the dinner table. I knew it was something she would never do or maybe even couldn't do alone. I decided it was time, time to let go, time to help heal, time to help her go through with what she has talked about all these years. I called out for her in the barn with a shovel in my hands and a hole by my side. She knew immediately what was happening. I watched as my mom walked down with those very boots in her hands. She was hesitant and even looked like letting go was worse than holding on. She put the boots in the hole extremely slow. She looked down and never broke eye contact with the boots in the ground. "It's kind of sad, you know," she said fighting back the tears. I felt so many different emotions, but didn't know how to react. It was somber, humbling, upsetting, moving. It was so many different feelings. We stood in silence as I looked at my mom and handed her the shovel. She filled in the hole some until she couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't imagine how this must have felt. We finished and walked back in silence yet again. A simple hug of thanks was shared which moved a whirlwind of emotion between the two of us. It was finished.

It's amazing what certain things we do in order to feel connection. Whether it's a certain smell, a place, an object, or a feeling. When the very last connections we have are lost, we also feel lost. We may try to seek out those who will solve all of our problems, but instead we need to search for those who won't let you face them alone. During these times God is watching over us and placing the people we need to help us through it. He is the ultimate healer and even though lost connections hurt He will lead you through it. Hope is what we need to seek after. This hope has a name and its name is Jesus. God knows how to fix what is broken and He understands that it takes time and that's okay. It's okay if it takes time to heal, it's okay if it takes time to get through your situation, it's okay to feel sad or angry or conflicted. Healing takes time and time is the very thing that makes it possible. Just remember God will help you through it and whenever He leads you to it, He WILL lead you through it.

"He heals the wounds of every shattered heart."

Psalm 147:3