Today I am grateful for closure. I love the old expression “when a door closes a window opens”. It’s a perfect way to encourage you to put the past behind you and plunge forward into something new and wonderful in your future.
The picture I’ve included today is of the flowers which were on the table the other night at my “retirement” celebration. It reminds me how awesome the people are, who I used to work with. For me any job, any event, any class, any place I go is about the people. Even if some of the people are annoying. I’m annoying, too, so that one’s easy. Each and every person is interesting in their own way and we often don’t realize that until they are gone and then it’s too late and we look for closure on the unexplainable.
Losing anyone is not easy, but my heart breaks when people are lost and their loved ones don’t know why happened to them. When people just disappear, like so many children on milk cartons, how do you move on? Where do you go without closure? If you have a daughter whose car is found but she’s not, can you ever move on? Awhile back when I learned of an elderly person with dementia, whose body was found out in the frozen elements. It’s awful for the family who might feel guilty that he escaped their care. How can they ever stop the “what-if” tapes from playing as they grieve for their loved one? My guilt came in because I thought, “Thank God. At least they know what happened and they don’t always have to wonder.” Wondering would be the absolute worst for me.
Now there is a plane that was carrying over 200 people “missing”. Over two-hundred people, each with at least one person, wondering, hoping, praying they are alive against all odds. Where are they? No one knows. Did they land on an island? The families must picture them cracking coconuts, starting fires and making rafts like Tom Hanks did in Castaway. I would. I am. . .for them. They must grasp at any news. They must listen to any report. They must because to not do so would mean they had lost all hope. They break down, they scream, they cry, they blame, they worry that too much time has passed. In their souls they know they are dead. Or are they, they wonder? Maybe not. Maybe they will find that the plane landed somewhere and those supposed plane-parts floated out to sea. Now, as this huge trauma in their lives is relegated to a small column on page five, they wonder if they will ever have closure, one way or the other. So do I. To not know is simply the worst. Closure does not mean forgetting. It means remembering and living on anyway.
Good or bad, there is something to be said for closure and I am grateful every time I’m given this gift. Whether it’s something as simple as retiring from a job, or something as life changing as losing a loved one; whether we’re given it clearly, or we have to fight to find it, closure is a necessary part of change.