Kristen Friesen: Letting go … and holding on

My sister and I talk at least once a day. At least. So unlimited long-distance comes in handy. But, truth be told, I'd call her anyway -- especially now that she's on bed rest with baby number three a little too anxious to make his appearance.

I say, "Hey! Whatcha doin'?"

She says, "Nothing. I'm soooo bored! The girls are wrecking the house."

If she reports anything more exciting, I tell her to "knock it off" and threaten to drive to Kansas City personally and sit on her.

But I feel for the poor girl -- confined to the couch when the birds are singing and children are begging for swing-set time. How maddening to wince at contractions, all the while praying that they're ineffective! And it hurts to let go: of house, schedule, control and pride.

Let me put it in perspective. My sister creates boutique children's clothing which she sells all over the world. Needless to say my nieces, ages 3 and 5, are impeccably dressed. However, with mommy in "time out," they are doing more for themselves these days. And the latest snapshot shows them wearing mismatched socks, their underpants on their heads. My sister sighs a lot.

The other day, however, she was in tears.

"Hey! Whatcha doin'?"

"Nothing. I got some bad news," she said.

Then she proceeded to tell me about her friend whose husband died suddenly last month after a day of yard work. Just like that. No warning. He left behind a wife and two small children.

Suffice it to say, my sister no longer thinks being couch-bound is such a bad deal. Maybe you've been there.

I couldn't help but think how spring is supposed to be a time of rebirth -- how all of humanity cheers its budding testaments to resiliency in prying open winter's icy grip. If ever a season could bring hope, it would be spring.

But, as my sister's friend reminded us, sometimes it snows in April.

In my life I've experienced more loss than some and far less than others. There were lost jobs, empty bank accounts and best friends who moved away with my secrets. And then there were losses that took my very breath away. Maybe you know what I mean -- the dashed dreams, lost innocence and final farewells.

Still, somehow, loss always manages to leave a little strength behind. I guess that's why those who endure a great deal in life are so impressive to the rest of us -- how they survive the unimaginable and still manage to laugh … eventually.

As a little girl I remember spring days spent at Lincoln's Children's Zoo. My family enjoyed a season pass. And, while I adored the monkeys and begged to ride the train, my favorite part was the promise of a balloon on the way out.

My dad had a knack for attaching balloons to wrists -- so they weren't too tight but wouldn't fly away in the parking lot. Once I tried to do it myself and you can guess what happened. Though I grabbed frantically at the air the balloon took off, its string too thin to grip as the wind whisked it away.

So I resigned my sad self to the inevitable. With my head tipped back and my hand shielding the sun from my eyes, I watched the balloon dance into the sunset, soaring freely. And I was strangely comforted. It was a lovely sight for sore eyes.

If you've seen enough springs you've surely done some letting go. Chances are you've said the kind of good-byes that knock the wind out of you. But, if you're still standing and no longer grasping at thin air, you're likely stronger for it. Maybe you've even learned to embrace the wind.

I guess that's what spring means to me: survival which dares to poke a hopeful head through earth's dirt -- and then has the audacity to bloom. And, though my sister will likely spend the remainder of it on the couch, I'll call her everyday to remind her that summer is coming.

Sometimes it takes letting go to hold on.

Kristen Friesen is a wife and mother of three girls and lives in Grand Island. She grew up in a house on Cottonwood Drive in Lincoln, where she learned much of what she passes on in this column. Contact her at hervoice@theindependent.com.