There's a strong feeling sometimes that life is about accumulation up to a point, and then there must be a letting go. The tide flows in, and flows out. The sun rises, the sun sets. We breath in , we breath out - until we don't.

Yesterday I was talking to Dad about things. He has a lot of things. Not in a kind of hoarder way, but in a man-who's-had-a-lot-of hobbies way, and the hard earned money to buy them.

The bow hanging in the garage.
The drone in it's back.
Four beautiful guitars.
A wealth of Sony camera equipment.
Surfboards.
Headphones.
Speakers.

And so on. They speak of a life of creativity, of a love of music, photography, the ocean, and nature.

Last week he gave away his rockbox - a kind of plywood box used for percussion - to his grandson. He couldn't do it himself. He had to get Mum to do it. He wanted to give it away, but he didn't, at the same time. No one is asking him to, but I think part of him enjoys seeing people happy with the last gifts he can possibly give.

We understood.

'It must be hard to let go, Dad', I said.

He's let go alot, my father. When faced with death, there's a list of things one must come to terms with. The adventures never undertaken. The failed relationships. The worry you haven't always been the best human, even if you have been nothing but beautifully human. He's been lucky to have the time to work through all that, and let it go.

Now, as he faces his dying, it's the possessions he's letting go. He understands it philosophically. We talk about how yogic thinking has helped us practice nonattachment, and how much harder it would be if we didn't have that practice. The thing is, you can understand all you like, but when it comes down to it, you're still going to have some niggles. He's not raging, by any means. It's just a gentle sadness, I suppose.

He has a few more photos to take.

Perhaps it's just evidence of Dad wanting to hold onto life. Holding onto his camera and other things are just a way of doing that. The thing is - he doesn't have to do anything, as I tell him.

He just has to let go of the last breath when the time comes.

We'll sort out the rest.

*This post was written in response to The Minimalist community's daily prompt - this time 'Transformation Thursday'. From items no longer in use that are only cluttering up your home, to memories, relationships, gripes and other emotional and mental hang-ups that are keeping you stuck... it's time to let go. Many of my posts are coming back to my father at this stage, forgive me - but as I'm living in his garden whilst he's transforming in a really, really big way, I'm sure you can understand!