“I don’t know…I think I am just looking for closure, but I don’t think I’m ever going to get it.”
This was the end to a text conversation. Hopeless and desperate all at the same time, the words hung with me like a weight around my neck. A verbal Albatross. The feeling was palpable between us both.
Closure has been on my mind a lot lately. It’s an image in our heads of resolve. The end of something. The moment we lay everything to rest during it’s final chapter. The problem is, I am not really sure there is such a thing. Closing a door to something doesn’t mean there aren’t things behind it. This closet is still full of crap that barely gets used. But it’s still there. And I know it.
When my parents died, I wondered if there would be closure. I hoped for it…even prayed. They were great parents, but the relationship between parents and children is a complicated and twisted path. But during their final chapter when their eyes closed for the last time and I watched them take their very last breaths, I realized how many holes there were in our story, in our history. My heart never fully had the chance to heal from some of it, and to this day there are still unresolved issues I have over moments with them, memories of them.
The same happened when my sister passed away. Or numerous break ups I’ve had. Or arguments. The list goes on.
I think the closure I have been seeking - the closure we all seek - isn’t real. It’s an illusion. The reality - the thing that IS real - is forgiveness. The closure is in the forgiving - the letting go. It’s in trying to stop the outcome of what is and living along side it. While this feels doable on some level, there are times where it can be especially hard. It’s hard when you aren’t prepared for it. Or when our pain is so real you can feel it physically. Or when you can’t get space from the person or situation. It seems unrealistic to expect someone to find forgiveness in something like an affair, abandonment, abuse.
But I think it can happen. I think forgiveness can come… with space and time.
I have mourned relationships that didn’t work out for decades before. I have wrestled with things said to me for a lifetime. So each day is a practice. Forgiving is letting go. And often, the hardest person I need to forgive is myself.
But each morning, I wake up and work on it.
I forgive. I breathe. And mostly, I hope.