This post is available as a podcast here: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/s-p01/episodes/Closure-e2ap01o

We seek closure after a loss. Many people seek closure from those we lost, but I’ve said it before: we cannot force anything that involves another person. We don’t get closure from other people; we always get it from ourselves. There’s nothing that can give you closure; you decide when you’ve reached closure. Closure comes after grief (see earlier post) when we find peace with the loss. Loss is hard. Grief takes time. Closure doesn’t always feel like closure, but we carry on.

Closure isn’t always peaceful. Closure is sometimes intentional rather than natural. Much like grief, I think the final sense of closure is different every time. When I lost my grandmother, my closure was more natural. We knew she was going to pass, and there was time for me to get a last visit with her and my child. It was important to me that she met my child because she had such a huge role in my development as a child. She also loved children. It was one of her wishes to see me married with children. So, she did, before she died. I focused on the positives. I know that she knew I loved her. I know she lived a long life, and had an impact on many people through her teaching career. I got one last visit with her, and she knew me – she got to see and touch her great-grandchild – I’m so grateful for all the time with her, and for those things. That’s where I find my closure.

If I spend my energy on my regrets, I lose closure. If I think about the times I disappointed her, or what my needs cost her – I’m out of that space rather quickly. I find closure in the things that are positive and the things for which I’m grateful. The loss of my dad was twofold: one part a real loss of a dad I once had, and another part intentional distancing by my choice. I have closure with the first part; I choose to remember and be grateful for the best parts of my dad to have closure with that loss. The second part was an intentional closure; I made a choice. I lost that connection to protect myself. I spent decades coming to that choice. I chose to find peace in a place where he cannot trigger me anymore. I find closure in the knowledge that I cannot expect our interactions to change, and I would rather live with the good memories than have them overwritten by painful memories. Sometimes closure is found in the foundation of the choice. If there’s someone in your life that you no longer have in your life – by your choice – that’s where you find the closure.

The closure on the other end of those losses is more sticky. If someone chooses not to have you in their life anymore, it’s a tough pill to swallow. I think the closure is in letting them go; find the place where you don’t need them in your life anymore. Find the place where you don’t feel the need to reach out, or at least have peace with the fact that you can’t/shouldn’t. Sometimes those people fade from our memories, and it gets easier. Sometimes they don’t. I have a sibling that doesn’t talk to me or my family, and that’s a loss I will always carry. Family can be like that. But, I can find my closure in the fact that I’m sure they’re doing well; they’ll find their feet somewhere. If they come back into my life – cool. If not, I hope they’re doing well. I think that’s what that kind of closure looks like.

My story this week is about a loss that’s actually funny.

My family went to the Strawberry Music Festival every year. It’s a folk music festival that was hosted just outside of Yosemite when I was a kid. There were three stages of music, a lake to swim in, fields and trails to wander through, crafts for kids, etc. I loved Strawberry. I loved getting my face painted, running around and dancing in the grass, and all the kids I’d meet each year. They had a thing where you could perform for free breakfast, I think it was on Saturday morning of the weekend. My mom talked me into yodeling for my breakfast each year. Every year, same basic yodel. Yeah, I practiced it… I can still yodel.

Not the point of the story. This story is about a loss. It’s a huge music festival, so most of the bathrooms are port-a-potties. We always camped in tents, except one year that I remember staying with my aunt and uncle in their tent trailer next to our tent. So, we’re camping. That means running to the port-a-potties in the middle of the night to pee. Well, this was the days before we all had flashlights attached to our phones. So, I had a dedicated flashlight to get me to and from camp at night. One night, I went to the port-a-potties and set the flashlight on top of the toilet paper roll holder… and the flashlight promptly fell into the toilet. No, I didn’t fish it out, but I could see better in that port-a-potty than ever before! I managed to get back to camp safely, in the darkness, ashamed of my loss. Today, it’s just funny. Yep, I dropped a flashlight into the port-a-potty at Strawberry when I was a kid. I felt that loss, but I would say I got closure with it.

You define your closure, however it happens. I think the important part is finding it within yourself.

Love and Hugs, -S.