On Loan: The Freedom in Letting Go

My father taught me a lesson that now echoes in my mind with great force: everything in this life is borrowed, and one day, it will be taken back. Buddhists refer to it as attachment, the root of suffering. And although I may not have understood it right away, today I know that life is constant change. Clinging to people, things, or ideas only creates pain. We all will die someday, and my father, passing away a few days ago, reminded me that from a young age, I knew that my parents were borrowed, and that one day, they would no longer be with me.

One of the last conversations I had with him was about freedom and evolution. Due to health reasons, my father required constant care. Illness had left his legs weak, unable to keep up with the pace of his years. Initially, I opposed the idea of placing him in a nursing home, but in the end, I understood that my work and my life prevented me from being with him 24/7. I accepted the reality, though it wasn’t easy.

However, my father didn’t accept the idea so easily. He challenged life for his freedom. He didn’t want to be confined to a place far from home; he wanted to be with his brothers, whom he considered the only ones capable of providing the care he needed. With his mental faculties still intact, my father wanted to continue living as he always had, surrounded by his loved ones. He didn’t want illness to define his existence, nor did he want his life to end that way. He wanted to be free.

I made the decision to give him that freedom. After a medical assessment, I understood that the best option was to allow him to return home, surrounded by his family. Despite all I knew about the deterioration of his body, the sense of freedom was crucial for him. No one knows reality better than the person who lives it, and although my heart was torn, I chose to respect his wish. In his final years, my father clung to his house, his childhood, and his youth, as if everything could return to how it was before.

The dilemma was this: should I keep him in a nursing home, against his will, simply out of a selfish desire to keep him close, alive? The answer wasn’t easy, but in the end, I understood that it’s not about forcing an adult to be where they don’t want to be. I wasn’t willing to take away his freedom. So, I let him go. I let him stay with his brothers. A few months later, his health deteriorated even further. My father returned to his house, without the care his condition required.

Eventually, one day he passed away alone. They found him two days later. His room was a mess. Was this the end he wanted? I don’t know, but I find it hard to believe that his final moments were as they were found. I know he fought for his freedom, and that despite everything, his last moments were marked by loneliness and anguish.

I did everything I could to keep him well, to care for him. But he wanted to be free. And although those who promised to be with him 24/7 didn’t fulfill their promise, I know they didn’t do it out of malice, but out of ignorance. And although they never had the courage to admit it, that doesn’t change the truth. My father is no longer here, but I’ve found peace, because I understood: he was on loan to me.

I keep many things of him. The photos from my childhood, the lessons he gave me. I also remember the disappointment he felt when I told him I didn’t want to be a football player or a mechanical engineer, which might have been a blow to him. But over time, I understood that his dreams for me weren’t mine. What he left me was much deeper: curiosity about life.

I remember our nights of endless conversations when I was still a child. I would be in my bed, in the room next to his, and I would ask him questions that often put him on the spot. Why doesn’t the sun ever go out? Why doesn’t the Earth fall even though it spins? Why can’t we travel through time? With each question, there was a piece of my soul in search of answers. My father, though pragmatic, never stifled the curiosity I carried within. He always had an answer, though not always in the way I expected. But it was that difference that fueled my love for learning.

Yesterday, I said goodbye to him. I accompanied him to his final resting place, next to my mother. Goodbyes are always hard, but something inside me tells me that now he is resting. He no longer feels pain, nor those legs that betrayed him. Finally, he is free. And so am I. Because I know that life is not a path we can control. Everything changes, everything evolves, and the only constant is that unstoppable flow.

We cannot cling to what we cannot avoid. As Heraclitus said, “nothing in this world is permanent, except change.” Life doesn’t belong to us; it’s just a loan, and we have to learn to let go. Sometimes freedom is in letting go. In understanding that we cannot stop everything from changing. Because the only thing we truly have is this moment, this breath.